Broken Doll
by MacCartney
Summary: An unsolved murder from years past comes back to haunt the boys when Starsky mysteriously receives the file. HC, violence and paranormal activity. Adult themes. Unfinished.
1. Chapter 1

**January 15th, 1947**

The last vestiges of sun disappeared into the gloom of an unusually bleak winter's day; grey skies, heavy fog, bone chilling wetness. Few people were outside, and those who needed to be hurried to get their business done as quickly as possible, longing for the warmth of their homes.

A young woman urged her little daughter forward. Thoughts of domestic unpleasantness causing her attractive face to turn dark, and absentmindedly she tugged harder at the little girl's hand, urging her along.

The girl was trying her best to keep pace with the big steps of her mother, when abruptly the long legs stopped.

The little girl's eyes wandered into the overgrown lot her mother seemed drawn to. "Mommy?" the little girl's soft voice questioned.

The woman's attention was caught by what looked like a dirty and broken department store mannequin lying among the weeds. The dummy was shattered and lay in two halves, separated by overgrowth and garbage. The bottom half seemed to be posed and twisted in a sexually explicit manner.

At first, the woman shook her head, vaguely wondering what twisted mind used a dummy for his sexual pleasure and why on earth he left its remains here, where little children would see. But as she began to move on, recognition dawned, suddenly and with striking impact. The woman swallowed. Her eyes were drawn back to the figure in the undergrowth.

White. Ghostly.

She began to scream.

The following day's newspaper headline read '**BODY FOUND AT GRUESOME MURDER SCENE,**' followed by a graphic photo of a woman's body partially covered by a blanket, placed there by well-meaning neighbours.

What the photos didn't show was how the body looked_ before_ it was covered: The naked, dead woman had been posed. She was lying on her back with her arms raised above her shoulders, her legs spread apart in an obscene imitation of seductiveness. Cuts and abrasions covered her body, and her mouth had been slashed so that a grisly smile ran from ear to ear. She had rope burns on her wrists, ankles, and neck, leading the police to believe she had been tortured before being killed.

But most horrific of all, was that she had been sliced cleanly in two, just above her waist.

The case was never solved.

**October 20th, 1977 **

Starsky rested his head against the window of Hutch's dilapidated LTD, slowly nodding off. His dark curls lightly tickled his forehead, causing the man to swipe at invisible flies.

"Starsk?" Hutch said, gently shaking his friend. "You with me buddy?"

"Ummm? Oh…yeah," Starsky yawned, trying to open his obviously sleep deprived eyes. "Had that dream again, last night."

"You mean the one with the woman?" Hutch looked over at his heavy-lidded partner.

"Um hum. It's weird. I've had the same dream every night for a week. I'm in some kind of night club, and a swing band is playing so loud I can barely hear…."

"And some gorgeous, black haired woman, wearing a lacy black evening gown, and covered in blood, begs you to help her. I know, I've heard about the dream every day for a week."

"Yeah, but this time the whole place is filled with blood! I was drowning in it while trying to grab her hand, but it was like the blood was made out of tar, and I could hardly move. Then she tried to strangle me!" Starsky's voice grew tenser with the memory, "It's really freaky. I can see her face, plain as day. It's like I know her."

Hutch just sighed and rolled his eyes. There was a simple reason for his friend's bad dream, now, if he could just make Starsky aware of it.

"What is it you're reading right now, Starsk? That Stephen King book, _The Shimmering_, or something like that?"

Indignant, Starsky replied, "It's _The Shining_."

Hutch chuckled to himself. He knew what the title of the book was--he just liked to rile his partner on occasion. And this was as good an occasion as any.

"What exactly is the book about, anyway?"

"Well," Starsky answered, "it's about a family that moves into an old haunted hotel as caretakers for the winter. This kid, Danny, has ESP or somethin', and sees ghosts. There's this one part with a bloated corpse in a bathtub, see, and she tries to strangle Danny, and…."

"Kind of like your dream, huh, Starsk?" Hutch smugly pointed out.

"What'd ya mean?"

"The book, buddy. I'm guessing it's full of blood and gore," Hutch explained. "Don't you see? Your subconscious is dramatizing the book for you in your dream. It's giving you nightmares. Why do you read that crap, anyway?"

"Well, if you're so smart, why do I know the girl?" Starsky was beginning to feel defensive about his choice in literature.

"Probably someone you saw at the store or on one of our calls…" Hutch was about to close his argument when a call came over the radio.

"Any unit in the vicinity of Del Habra and Holgate, please respond to a possible domestic disturbance at 6-3-3-2 Del Habra Drive." Starsky grabbed the mic, "Zebra three in the vicinity and responding. Our ETA is three minutes."

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

They pulled in front of the single-story duplex three and a half minutes after receiving the call. A quick glance at the scene unfolding before them, told the detectives what they needed to know: the situation was winding down.

A six-foot-tall, balding, middle aged man was standing on the front lawn loudly cursing at the equally tall, yet slender woman on the front steps. The woman's waist-length brown hair was disheveled and knotted, partially covering her swollen, purple cheek. She screamed back at the man through bloodied lips. It was pretty obvious to the detectives that domestic violence had occurred, and it was their job now to break it up.

"Well, buddy," Hutch sighed, "how do you want to do this?"

Starsky smiled knowingly. "Well, I think I got the last one, so this guy's all yours."

"Oh, come on, Starsk. The last one was an eighty-year-old gay couple fighting about laxatives. This guy must weigh at least 300 pounds. There's no comparison!" Hutch argued.

"Good thing you've been working out."

Hutch chuckled and shook his head as he slowly climbed out of his car, followed closely by Starsky.

"Got your back, buddy," Starsky informed him as they neared the giant.

"Great. Just great." Hutch muttered to himself as he took in his surroundings.

It appeared the whole neighborhood had come out to watch the battle. _One of them must have called it in,_ thought Hutch. He carefully approached the large man and, showing his badge, identified himself as a police officer. Then came the unexpected: the man began to cry. And not the quiet crying of the remorseful, but, rather, loud sobs and wailing. Before Hutch could duck out of the way, the man wrapped his thick arms around the blond, and sobbed into the detective's shoulder. Starsky, calmly resting against the Torino, now sure his partner was not in any immediate danger, gave Hutch a thumbs-up and couldn't suppress a grin that spread from ear to ear.

"Um, sir," Hutch said as he attempted to free himself, "I need to place you under, uh, a-arrest. Sir? Um, sir?"

The man, sniffing back copious tears, complied by placing his massive hands behind his back. Hutch glared at the laughing Starsky while he gently placed restraints on his captive.

In the meantime, neither officer noticed the woman's face twisting with new-found anger. Open-mouthed in sheer surprise, as if she just noticed her spouse endangered, the woman looked at Hutch who was busy cuffing her husband – the same man she'd been screaming at a minute earlier. But apparently her dislike towards police involvement outgrew her marital problems. Or maybe it came from a notion that she loved her husband more than showed at the moment. That was unclear and hardly mattered as she suddenly, with a loud cry, ran towards Hutch, too fast for even Starsky to stop her. She began pounding her fists into Hutch's back, demanding he let Bubba go.

Starsky grabbed her from behind, around her tiny waist, and began pulling her away from his partner. This, however, only succeeded to further enrage the woman, now turning her vengeance on the dark-haired detective. Starsky let out a pain-filled howl as the woman dug her sharp nails into his bare arm, drawing blood, and then running the heel of her wooden clog down the defenseless man's shin. Starsky quickly released her and began hopping on one leg while rubbing his bruised shin.

Starsky was just beginning to right himself, when he felt the woman hurdle onto his back, her legs wrapping tightly around his middle, and her hands painfully pulling his thick hair.

"Get her off, Hutch!" Starsky begged over the sound of the screaming banshee on his back.

Hutch finished putting Bubba in the back of the LTD, and now it was his turn to lean calmly against the car's door.

"She's all yours, buddy. I've got mine right here," Hutch patted the roof of his car and smiled at his unfortunate partner turning circles, swatting at the wild woman on his back.

Finally, Starsky decided he'd had enough, and did what he had to in order to rid himself of his unwanted passenger; he dropped onto his back, crushing the woman beneath his weight. The plan, however, wasn't completely trouble-free for the detective. The woman's knees, upon impact with the ground, dug painfully into his kidneys, causing Starsky to fight the urge to vomit right then and there. Hutch watched with one raised eyebrow.

Starsky rolled off the woman and was relieved to see that she looked mostly unharmed.

"OK, lady. Stand up," he panted as he painfully stood and brushed himself off.

The woman defiantly remained on the ground.

"Stand up, lady," Starsky raised his voice but she remained still. "Look, lady, just get up and we'll call it good, alright?"

Still the woman sat, now cross-legged on the warm asphalt. Starsky looked toward Hutch, exasperated. Then with a loud, resigned sigh, he removed his handcuffs and placed one around the woman's wrist.

"Get off the ground now, lady, before I drag you up,"

"Uh, Starsk," Hutch warned, "I'm not sure you want to do that."

The warning came too late, however; Starsky had already placed the other cuff around his own wrist and was pulling at the rebellious woman. A triumphant smile crossed the curly-haired detective's face when the woman finally stood, only to be just as quickly erased when she pulled her full cotton skirt above her head and let out a piercing war cry.

Starsky took note of Hutch's unusually wide eyes, and followed his friend's gaze down. What he saw brought a quick blush to his startled face: the woman was completely pantyless. That is when he also noticed the large crowd of neighbors still gathered, along with the officers who had arrived as backup. All eyes were on him.

Urgently, Starsky tried to get the woman to pull down her skirt, but she continued to run circles around the embarrassed man, screaming. He half dragged the struggling woman to the LTD. He met Hutch, who by now was doubled over with laughter. Franticly, he attempted to insert his keys in the lock, only to drop them when the woman elbowed him in the gut.

"Huuutch," Starsky whined, "do something!"

"Oh man," Hutch hiccuped as he wiped the tears from his eyes. "You're a great dancer, Starsk. I always knew you had it in you."

"Huuuutch." The curly-haired man looked so uncomfortable that Hutch decided to help.

"Okay, okay. Hang on." Hutch pulled the door open. "How am I going to get your wife to stop?"

"Lemme out. She'll listen to me," Bubba pleaded. The tone of his voice convinced Hutch easily. He gestured the big man out of the car.

Starsky was getting dizzy from being constantly spun around, and his wrist was becoming raw, when he heard a calm voice over the incessantly loud noise of the woman he was handcuffed to.

"Jan, baby, it's alright, let the cop go," Bubba entreated. "I'll be home by dinner, babe. Just let the cop go."

Surprisingly, the woman immediately stopped, and Hutch was able to separate the handcuffed pair. While Starsky stood bent at his waist trying to get his cool back, Jan ran over to Bubba and they embraced, lovingly.

"Did you practice a lot for that pirouette?" The blond bit his lip.

"Funny, very funny, Hutch."

"I mean – you'd look great in a tutu."

"Terrific. I'm being molested and my partner mocks me in front of an entire crowd."

"Audience, Starsk, audience." Hutch swallowed to hide another bubble of laughter. He just couldn't resist. "Can I get your autograph?"

'I'm never going to hear the end of this, am I?" Starsky looked up at Hutch.

"Not for a while, buddy, not for a while," Hutch wiped at more tears. "Come on, I'll buy you a Danish."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Broken Doll-Chapter 3

Hutch sauntered over to his uncharacteristically organized desk, while his partner hobbled to his own, lowering himself painfully into his chair.

"Whups bis?" Starsky asked through a large mouthful of cream-cheese Danish.

"What's what?" Hutch sighed a bit impatiently.

"This."

Hutch sighed and rolled his eyes, "I don't know, buddy, what?"

Starsky tossed a yellowed folder on top of Hutch's report hoping to grab his partner's attention. Irked, the blonde tossed it back.

"Starsk, it was on your desk, it's yours. Why don't you just open it and see what it is?"

Frowning tiredly, Starsky folded open the cover. Then, in an instant, he stumbled back from his desk, causing the wooden chair to crash loudly to the floor. Hutch, startled, looked up to see the shocked face of his friend staring down at the file on his desk.

"Starsky! Hutchinson! What's going on out here?" The loud crash in the squad room brought the gruff Captain from his office, but upon seeing the shock on Starsky's face--and the worry in Hutch's--Dobey's annoyance turned to concern.

Starsky tried to stop the shaking of his hand as he pointed towards the file, "This is a joke, right. Hutch, you put this here, _right_? Please tell me this is your twisted idea of a joke."

It was then Hutch noticed how pale his partner looked. He was beginning to think his partner was more injured from his beating today than either previously realized, until he saw what Starsky was wildly pointing to. Inside the aged folder was a black and white picture of a striking dark-haired woman. Her black hair was coifed in a 1940's style, but it were her eyes that were most arresting. Dark in color, the eyes that sprang from the old photo were full of life and vivacity. Even her luscious, full lips paled in comparison to her radiant gaze.

"Hey, Starsk, that looks kinda like the woman you described from your dreams." Hutch moved closer to the desk for a better view of the file folder.

"No kidding." Starsky swallowed, rubbing his tired eyes.

"I hate to tell you this, partner, but I didn't put that file on your desk. I've been out with you all day, remember?"

"Well, then who did, huh? Captain?" By now Starsky had overcome his shock, and his impatience was moving rapidly into anger.

"Will one of you tell me what's going on here? Who is this woman and why is she on your desk, Sergeant!"

"That's just it, Cap, I don't know _who_ this woman is. I've seen her before, but, err…I don't know where."

Studying the file more closely, the portly Captain began to register a look somewhere between recognition and confusion.

"I remember this case. I was a teenager when her body was found. Her case is still unsolved, Starsky."

"But why's it on my desk, Cap?" Starsky couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was brewing.

Dobey rubbed his thick neck with a large hand, "That, I don't know, Detective. It's been filed away in the archives for at least twenty-five years. How it got up here's a mystery to me."

"What can you tell us about the case, Cap?" Hutch asked, receiving a sideways glance from Starsky.

"Well, seems to me it was pretty gruesome. I remember some of the detectives on the case, when I was still in uniform, talking about how her body was cut in half in one stroke, and how they never had any good suspects. Some of those guys had a hard time letting that one go."

O0O

After downing several beers at The Pits in an attempt to numb the pain in his aching, bruised body, and to hopefully forget the woman in black, Starsky was dropped off at his apartment.

O0O

He filled the bathtub nearly to the top with steaming hot water and groaning, carefully lowered his injured body into its inviting depths. With a loud sigh, the weary detective closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the cool porcelain tub.

Something was wrong.

The water was no longer warm and soothing, but cold-prickling his skin, giving him goose bumps.

When he felt the cold water crawl against his skin, he immediately opened his eyes. His bathroom was cloaked in a thick mist, and he could see his own breath in the air. The heaviness of the atmosphere was overpowering, causing Starsky to feel like he was suffocating. His heart began to pound against his chest and with that, a rising panic, but he could not move. His mind screamed at his body to climb out of the tub and race to where he could draw a desperate breath, but only his eyes would move. He was powerless.

"Help me." The startling cry came from beside him, but he was afraid to look. He didn't want to, was scared, afraid to, but yet he couldn't resist. Slowly, his head not moving, his eyes shifted toward the unwelcome sound.

David Michael Starsky screamed. No sound came out, but his entire body screamed. He wanted to make noise, _had_ to make noise, but the sheer terror had an iron grip on his voice. Standing very close to the mute and paralyzed man, was the woman from his dream—the same startling dark eyes pleading to him.

"Help me..." she hissed.

Then the beautiful, frightening face morphed. The dark eyes became silver, no longer human. The rich red mouth became a grimacing bloody gash running from ear to ear. Her hands were now swollen, fish-white claws. In a dream-like slowness, they reached toward the dark-haired man's throat. Starsky watched in horror as the hands reached towards him, and could smell the rotting flesh slipping around his neck, but he couldn't pull away. His heart swelled with fear until he was sure it would burst.

_No, don't_. _Please. I can't defend myself. Damn you, bitch. Hutch, I need you buddy. Now! God, Hutch. Please come…._

Thoughts of Hutch finding his bloated body floating in the tub filled the detective's mind as the putrid hands pushed his head under the frosty water. His dying blue eyes stared up at the creature. He was powerless to close them against the repulsion. _Sorry, Hutch, I didn't fight, I'm so sorry…_

As his burning lungs painfully filled with water, and his thoughts began to slow, all he could think was, _why? _Then he fell into darkness.

To Be Continued…


	4. Chapter 4

Broken Doll-Chapter 4

His eyelids snapped open. His chest heaved. _Nothing's there. It was a dream. A dream. THERE IS NOTHING THERE._

The water in Starsky's bath was still warm, but the detective wanted nothing more desperately than to escape its heavy grasp. Trembling, and shaken, he climbed out of the tub and attempted to warm his chilled flesh inside the warmth of his velour robe. Starsky staggered into the living room and sank down on the couch. His knees were rubber, his stomach churned and his throat and lungs hurt. His head was spinning. _What was that? I'm running a fever,_ he registered, _I should call Hutch. I need a drink. What **was **that? Hutch. Hutch buddy…_

Dizzily he got up, went to the kitchen and got himself a glass of juice. Then his gaze fell onto the old stained manila folder on his table

"Oh, shit," Starsky said as his eyes stopped at the familiar and unwanted file on his table.

Reaching for the phone, Starsky took a few deep breaths. _Calm down, call Hutch, calm down, _he told himself. He dialed the familiar number of his best friend.

"Yeah," Hutch answered.

"Um. Hutch?"

Startled by the quiet tension in Starsky's voice, Hutch answered, "Starsk, what's wrong?"

"I'm…I'm not really sure," Starsky hesitated. "Uh, could, would you… would you mind coming over?"

Starsky could hear Hutch immediately grabbing his keys. "I'll be there in a minute, buddy. Hang on."

Starsky sat with the phone in his hand long after Hutch hung up. As always, Hutch only needed half a word to understand the whole of him. Again, Starsky took a shuddering breath. _Hutch'll be here in a minute, he'll know what to do. He'll take care of everything. Just calm down and hang up._

But despite his great effort to let the phone go, the receiver had been his only physical connection to Hutch, and at the moment he couldn't sever it. He desperately needed Hutch to tell him things were alright.

O0O

When Hutch arrived fifteen minutes later, he found Starsky sitting on his couch staring at the phone. An empty glass sat on the end table next to him. Hutch didn't smell liquor. Besides, Starsky was not a quiet drinker. Juice, water maybe. What was wrong?

"Hey, buddy," Hutch's voice was filled with concern, "what's going on? You okay?"

Not looking up, Starsky mumbled for Hutch to look at the kitchen table. Hutch did, and what he saw startled him.

"How'd this get here?" Hutch was perplexed and looked toward Starsky for an explanation. That's when he noticed a purple ring forming around his friend's throat.

"Hey buddy, are you alright?" He knelt next to Starsky and lightly ran his fingers over the swollen bruise. Starsky flinched and pushed Hutch's probing hands away.

"Starsk, you wanna tell me what's going on, buddy?"

"You won't believe me." Starsky said with a touch of desperation in his voice.

"Try me." Hutch noticed Starsky's intense blue eyes, and realized they were a deeper blue than usual. He then noticed the pale skin and reddened cheeks. "Something's obviously going on, Starsk, and it's obviously upsetting you. So why won't you tell me about it."

Starsky looked over to Hutch and sighed deeply. Then, hesitant at first, but more quickly as the words poured out, he told his concerned partner about the phantom in the bathroom. When the story was finished, he leaned back on the couch, eyes closed and mentally spent.

Hutch was silent for a long moment letting Starsky's words sink in, "Wow. That, uh, that was quite a dream, buddy. No wonder you called me."

Starsky shook his head, looking tired and pale. He nearly whispered what he felt. "It wasn't a dream, Hutch. Look at me, look at my neck. Do you think I'm doing this to myself? Where did that file come from? It…it scares me. Am I…I am…I'm not insane. I KNOW I didn't do this to myself. But I can't explain what's happening and…and…I"

Confused, Starsky sat dejectedly back down on the couch, his head buried in his open hands. Hutch sat down next to him.

"Starsk, I believe _you_ believe it really happened." He reached a hand over to rub his exhausted partner's neck, and then pulled it back from the heat that radiated off the skin.

"Shit, Starsk, you're burning up. Why didn't you tell me you were sick?"

"Hutch, if it was just a dream, why do I have these bruises on my neck?" Starsky desperately wanted an answer he could comprehend, rather than the truth he feared.

"Oh, Starsk, they're from that feral woman who attacked you today. Remember her? She beat the crap outta you, buddy." Hutch was relieved to see Starsky look up with a smile, however little a smile it was.

"Yeah. She did, didn't she?" Starsky chuckled despite his obvious embarrassment.

"Yeah. It's all the junk food you eat. It's made you weak." Hutch grinned, grabbing onto Starsky's clammy forearm. Then in a more serious tone said, "And, buddy, you had that horrible dream because you had too little sleep, and now you're sick. Now, get in bed. I want to take your temperature."

"Yeah, you're right," Starsky mulled over Hutch's theory. "It was just a dream. But, still. How'd the file get in here?"

"Go to bed!"

Starsky quickly complied.

"Well," Hutch stated, shaking out the glass thermometer, "You really did it this time, Starsk. Your temperature is 103.5...no wonder you're seeing things."

"Don't pick on me, I'm sick." Starsky pouted in his best little-boy-lost fashion.

"I've known that for a long time, buddy. Now take these." Hutch handed Starsky two aspirin and a glass of water.

Starsky did as commanded, then groaned as he slipped back under the covers of his tantalizingly soft bed.

"Do you need some liniment for your bruises?" Hutch had been shocked at the contusions covering Starsky's body when his friend changed into his nightclothes, but said nothing.

"Sleep." Starsky moaned, then drifted off.

Hutch brushed the sweaty, dark curls from his friend's forehead, then grabbed some blankets and a pillow and headed for the couch. _Sleep well, partner_.

O0O

Starsky heard the sound of an old record playing somewhere nearby, a slow, haunting blues number. One he thought he remembered hearing when he was little, maybe seeping out of someone's apartment window on a late summer's night…Billie Holliday. That had to be it—her lovely, mournful voice singing of a man she would love no matter what happened. An old song like that. Almost unbearably sweet, yet sad, because of all the hope in something that, too often, turns out so wrong in the end… Way back when—the late-night feel of it, the sound of nightclubs hazed with cigarette smoke, with longing and lust on the air…

_Somebody's on my mind  
Like an old sweet song, the lasting kind.  
Somebody's on my mind  
So I'm walking on clouds, all silver lined…  
_

He heard the soft rustle of a dress nearby, silk stockings gliding against each other, smelled the light scent of rose perfume…and opening his eyes slowly, he saw her standing there, against the walls of another bedroom, another time. Late Forties—1947, the case file had said, he remembered dimly. Heavy drapes, heavy furniture, the lamplight warm and intimate.

_To dream my dream could be my mistake,  
But I'd rather be wrong and sleep right along than wake._

_Love may be blind, I'll take my chances that he cares this affair's  
my real romance…_

And she was all in black, though not the mourning kind at all, not on a body like that. Her face was pale but vibrantly alive, her lips bee-stung red and her eyes dark and deep, with bold sharp eyebrows arching just slightly, showing her to be a woman of rare determination. And at the moment, that rare determination was focused all on him.

He looked down at himself and realized that he was naked, his pajama pants vanished—though this didn't surprise him somehow. It didn't seem to surprise her either, from the way that she was looking at him, her eyes running openly over his strongly-built body as he glanced back up.

_That's why you'll find  
Somebody's on my mind…_

"See, I knew you were my type," she said with a knowing little smile, her voice still sounding a little distant but more steady now, as if approaching nearer, coming into focus. "Even out of uniform, you still got that air about you…you're a man who knows what he's doing."

Starsky mustered a crooked smile. "Well, most of the time, anyway," he said, looking her over more directly now.

Her eyes warmed to him as she neared the bed, her movements sinuous and seductive, like the finely-trained moves of a dancer as she knelt before him, putting a hand up to stop him as he tried in vain to protest, struggling briefly to rise. She held him back softly but firmly, her fingers gliding up through the dark thicket of hair on his chest. She bent lower, her breath warm and tingling on his skin, her lips touching him lightly, her rosy tongue grazing him here and there as her other hand trailed over his body, her lacquered fingernails tracing tantalizing curves and spirals like a figure-skater on the ice.

Starsky felt his thighs tremble with anticipation, a flush of blood stirring him, stiffening his groin even before her cherry-red lips, as boldly painted as the Torino itself, kissed its head, her tongue teasing him rapaciously, and then took him inside her mouth gradually, achingly, as he gasped and froze for a second, breathing hard, then gripping the bedcovers in his hands and closing his eyes as the thrill ran through him…feeling the soft wet friction of her mouth caressing him, her teeth running lightly and ever-so-skillfully up and down the length of him, forcing a tense, shuddering groan of pleasure from him.

He opened his eyes slowly, warily, unsure of trusting too much in these sensations, these heated attentions of hers…she reached up with her other hand, lightly caressing his face, gliding over the slight roughness of his cheek, down the side of his throat, as if treasuring every inch of him, relishing the strength of his shoulders, the firmness of his chest. "Oh, babe…" he murmured under his breath, strained and almost purring with the intensity of pleasure she was building up in him, like stoking a fever slowly and irresistibly, not pushing him but pulling him like a magnet towards the edge…

She withdrew from around him carefully, deliberately, a smile and a sparkle in her eyes as she looked up at him, drinking in the slightly dazed look in his deep blue eyes, the flush of his skin. "I knew you'd like it," she said softly, her voice like velvet, her lipstick barely smudged…"I know what a man like you needs deep down in there, whether you say it or not…"—and with that she slid back over him, grazing him so exquisitely as she took him into her mouth that he almost came unexpectedly right then and there, gasping and reaching out for her, for anything to hold onto, but finally grasping her shoulders as lightly as he could, surprised at her solidity beneath his own hands even though he could very well feel the force of her ardor, working him over in the most excruciatingly blissful of ways.

Her deeply-brilliant red lips glided like a pulse up and down his groin, her tongue pressing at him, hard and teasingly, ready at any second to milk him thoroughly, passionately. His breath was coming in short, moaning pants as her pace quickened and grew deeper and ever more urgent, his hands roaming restlessly over her shoulders, caressing her, feeling her there, _so real_—her fingers moving over his body like a restless breeze, stirring him, rousing him more and more till he knew he was going to break, to shatter and spill over into her. He couldn't help himself, he had to surrender, he had to… And as he groaned and shuddered, his eyes almost-closed, his body convulsing suddenly in uncontrollable ecstasy as he climaxed, her blood-red nails, suddenly sharp as razors, raked viciously down his stomach, slicing into his flesh. He screamed in outright agony—

To Be Continued


	5. Chapter 5

Broken Doll-Chapter 5

Hutch was sleeping fitfully on the lumpy couch when a piercing cry jolted him awake. Momentarily confused, he rubbed his eyes, trying to gather his bearings.

"Huuuutch!"

He knew then where he was, and quickly ran into Starsky's room.

Starsky was sitting up in bed, sweat running down his pale cheeks, holding his chest, and gasping for breath.

Hutch immediately sat at his side and felt his forehead, "Jeeze, you're burning up!"

"Huh…Hutch," Starsky gasped, "she was here, she was..."

"Shh, shh, buddy. It was just a dream. I'm here now." Hutch went into the bathroom and retrieved a glass of cold water for Starsky.

With shaking hands, Starsky held the glass and drank deeply.

"Okay, let's get you into some dry clothes now."

Hutch unbuttoned Starsky's night shirt, and as he pulled the soaked garment open, he gasped—running across Starsky's stomach were several long, bloody gashes.

"Oh, buddy. What'd ya do?"

"Hum?" a sleepy voice replied—"do what?"

"Nothing. Just go back to sleep." Hutch ran his fingers over the damp curls, lulling his friend to sleep.

When Starsky's breath became deeper, Hutch set about gathering gauze and hydrogen peroxide to treat the painful looking scratches on his partner's chest. He also grabbed the thermometer, regretting having to wake his sleeping friend.

Hutch turned on the bedside lamp and looked more closely at the bare chest. Through the dark hair he saw what he'd missed earlier in his shock. Tiny red bumps covered the clammy skin on Starsky's chest and stomach. Hutch ran his hand down the pale arm and felt the roughness of a rash there, too.

More concerned than ever about his partner's well being, Hutch carefully cleaned and bandaged the scratches; he was sure Starsky had caused the deep gouges in his sleep trying to relieve the itchiness of the rash.

Starsky having not woken while his newest wound was tended, Hutch softly shook his shoulder. "Wake up for me, buddy, come on."

"Ummmm…"

"Come on, Starsk, I need to take your temperature again, buddy." More shaking. "Open your eyes for me, partner."

"Nuuh, go away. Sleep," the groggy and now hoarse voice pleaded.

Hutch reached behind the sick man's shoulders and pulled him up to a sitting position. This gesture mostly woke Starsky, and Hutch was able to get the thermometer under his tongue before he fell asleep in the blond's arms.

After several minutes, as his arm was beginning to numb, Hutch removed the glass tube and laid Starsky's perspiring head softly onto his pillow. _104 buddy. Tomorrow you see the doctor. _

O0O

"Yeah, Huggy. The doc says he has a strep infection and needs to take antibiotics for ten days. What? Yeah, he's in bed now. It's down to 103, but it's been going up and down all morning. An hour sounds good. Thanks, Hug. Okay, I will. Bye." Hutch hung up the phone and went into the bedroom to check on Starsky.

Starsky's fever had risen to a dangerous level during the night, so Hutch bundled his weary partner off to see Doctor Ness. It wasn't until questioned by the doctor, though, that Starsky admitted to suffering from a particularly bad sore throat for several days.

Now, Hutch looked at his sleeping friend and smiled affectionately. Starsky had hidden his discomfort so well, Hutch hadn't noticed anything wrong with his companion. But then again, maybe he was too preoccupied talking some sense into his partner's head when the brunet told him about the dreams. Well – whatever. He was here now and would make sure Starsky got what he needed to get well again. Hutch grabbed a photography magazine from Starsky's night stand, and sat in a nearby chair waiting for Huggy's arrival. Hutch had asked their trusted friend to keep an eye on Starsky – he had to work. Besides, a bit of research into whatever it was that haunted his pal was on his to-do-list too.

O0O

Hutch paced Captain Dobey's office while shuffling through black and white photos of the dead woman. The contents of the mysterious file covered Dobey's desk as the large man read the report out loud. "The victim's name was Elizabeth Mallone, twenty-two. Says here she was an aspiring actress."

Hutch frowned. "Aren't they all?"

"The body was discovered by Betty Talbert, a house wife. She and her daughter, Emma, were out doing errands when she spotted the body. Hum, let's see, the officers on scene…"

"Wait… wait a minute." Hutch held up a finger to get the Captain's attention.

"Looking up from the report Dobey asked, "What, Hutchinson?"

"Who found the body?" The tall detective moved quickly to peer over Dobey's shoulder.

"Let's see. Talbert, Betty Talbert."

"And you said her daughter was with her, uh, Emma, right?"

Dobey looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at his detective. "Yeah, so?"

Hutch ran his finger under the name. "Betty Talbert." The tall detective reached past Dobey and picked up the police report. He studied it closely for a moment before speaking, "She'd be about fifty-five now."

"What about it?" Dobey gruffly answered.

"I don't know." Hutch deflated. "Maybe she can give us something that's not in the report. Maybe she saw something she was too scared to tell anyone."

"That's a lot of maybes, Hutchinson. _Maybe_ she doesn't live here anymore? Maybe she's dead?"

Hutch sat down and tiredly put his face in his hands. "I know that, cap." His face wrinkled in deep thought.

Dobey put his papers down and looked at his detective. "Why are you two suddenly so interested in a murder that happened over 30 years ago, anyway? Huh? And don't give me any bull, either."

Hutch debated with himself about telling his boss the whole truth, about Starsky's belief that he is being tormented by the dead woman's ghost, about the scratches, the dreams, the fear. Instead he went with the partial truth. "You know how Starsk likes a good mystery, Captain—and well, he kind of got me involved in it too, I suppose." Hutch looked at his hands, rather than the fatherly figure staring at him.

"Humph." Dobey's snort said as much as a hundred words did. The captain was well aware that Hutch was not telling the complete truth, the blond knew. But Hutch also knew that Dobey often granted them freedom of space, to pursue their own lines of investigation.

"Well, as long as it doesn't take any time away from your current cases, I suppose…."

"Thanks, Captain." Hutch looked up, relieved that he was able to satisfy Dobey's curiosity so easily.

"Now, let's look into exactly who the responding officers were."

Hutch smiled.

O0O

After several failed attempts to get Starsky to eat some of his homemade chicken broth, Huggy reclined on the sick man's couch and nodded off while the sound of afternoon soaps droned on in the background. Huggy fell into an uneasy sleep, ill defined shapes surrounding him. Jazz music played its blue notes. A woman's voice called out softly._ Help me_, _help me, please._ Another disembodied voice answering. _What do you want? Who are you? _Then Huggy moved into what he thought was another dream; darkness, and in it a sudden jumble of noises—knocks and bangs, weeping, choking. The overpowering scent of rose. _Huggy, help me_. _Huggy_. _Huggy_. _Huggy. Huggy_. He sat up and knew he wasn't dreaming.

"Huggy?" A weak voice called from the other room.

"Oh, shit. Starsky!" He headed quickly towards Starsky's room and peered into the semi-darkness. Huggy stepped in completely when he realized the bed was empty. From the bathroom he could hear unpleasant sounds of dry heaves followed by gagging.

"Huggy…" Starsky's voice was weak and scratchy.

Looking in, Huggy found Starsky sitting on the floor, saturated in sweat, and weekly clinging to the toilet. The tall black man quickly knelt beside his friend. Dark circles encompassed the brunet's listless blue eyes, and his normally tan skin was colorless, except for his cheeks which burned red with fever. Starsky was holding his stomach and moaning between bouts of retching.

"Oh man, Starsky. I'm sorry. I feel asleep out there on your couch. How long you been in here?"

"'S'okay, Hug." More dry heaves into the basin.

Huggy reached around his miserable friend and, when he was sure the worst of the painful heaving was over, leaned him back against the bathroom wall handing him the waste paper basket. He retrieved a damp cloth and the thermometer, placing the thermometer under Starsky's arm and the cloth on his neck. After several minutes Huggy checked the temperature and shook his head. "It's back up, my man. Think you can hold down some aspirin?"

Starsky answered with a shake of his head and retched into the basket. "Bed?" He croaked, once his churning stomach settled slightly.

"Alright. Let me help you up." Huggy grabbed Starsky around the waist and pulled him to his wobbly feet and into the bedroom. They made their shaky way to the bed and Starsky fell into it devoid of energy.

"Did…did you see her?" Starsky managed a whisper.

"See who?" His friend spoke so softly, Huggy leaned closer to hear.

"The…the dead woman. She was h-here."

"No dead lady here, Starsk. Least one that I seen."

Starsky weakly clutched Huggy's arm. "Saw her. I s-saw .." His heavy lids closed and instantly he was asleep. Huggy took Starsky's arm and placed it at the sleeping man's side. _Why do you smell like roses…? _Huggy silently questioned as he left the room to call Hutch.

To Be Continued


	6. Chapter 6

**This chapter has a graphic coroner's report that some may find offensive.**

Broken Doll-Chapter 6

Hutch left work early after getting Huggy's worried call, and entered the apartment carrying a new prescription from the doctor. He sat next to Starsky on the bed with a bottle of sugary cherry-flavored syrup.

"Come on, buddy. Wake up. You need to take this. The Doctor said it will help with your nausea. Come on, sit up."

Starsky opened his dark eyes and blinked, trying to focus. Hutch could see petechial hemorrhaging in his eyes, a result of the severe vomiting and dry heaving Huggy warned him about.

"Hey, Blintz." Starsky croaked. "How ya doing?"

Hutch smiled at his sick partner. _No matter how down you feel, you still worry about me. Don't you buddy._ "I'm fine. But you don't look so hot." He felt Starsky's forehead for fever and brushed a damp ringlet out of Starsky's eyes. "Huggy said the medicine is making you vomit. So the Doc gave me something that should help."

Hutch put an arm behind Starsky and helped pull his weak partner to a semi-sitting position. He then pulled several pillows behind his friend and leaned him back onto them.

"There, that should make it easier to take your medicine. Open up, Starsk."

"No. I don' wanna, Hutch," came the raspy sounding whine Hutch fully expected.

"I know. But the doc says you have to take all of your antibiotics, and this stuff here should help you keep them down." Hutch held up the bottle of red liquid.

"No."

"Look, Starsky"—Hutch was prepared to fight his defiant friend—"take this now, or I'm going to have to force it down you later."

Starsky looked at Hutch with sad puppy eyes, but opened his mouth and swallowed the saccharine liquid.

"Ughhh, what is dat?" Starsky spat in disgust.

"Here's some water, Starsk. You need to take your pill." Hutch popped the large yellow pill into the disapproving mouth and helped Starsky with the water. He then assisted Starsky to the bathroom for a round of empty dry heaves. Though it was over quickly, Starsky was left in an exhausted state.

"You ready for bed, buddy?" Hutch asked using the damp cloth to cool the smaller man's neck.

Starsky nodded, then slowly walked from the bathroom. Outside the door he stopped and looked back at his partner. "Hutch?"—whispered so softly it almost went unnoticed. His eyes began to roll backward, and his knees collapsed beneath him.

"Whoa, there, Starsk. Easy, now. Hold on to me, buddy, and let's get you into bed. Alright?"

"Yeah, 'kay" mumbled Starsky, standing on wobbly legs and clutching onto Hutch's arms. The blond helped his friend to bed and lightly tucked the covers around him. Starsky shivered; the warmth of the blankets was not enough to keep the tremors from his feverish body.

"I don't feel so good" Another small whisper, almost a sigh.

"Shhh. Go to sleep, Starsk." Hutch crawled onto the bed next to Starsky and caressed his curls while singing softly. Soon Starsky's breathing was less labored and Hutch knew he was finally sleeping. "You'll feel better tomorrow, partner. I promise."

O0O

At first Starsky didn't completely register the noise coming from the bathroom. As he slowly began to gain awareness, though, the sound was no longer a droning, but instead more like weeping. He was sure of it now, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Weeping, soft and mournful. Someone was in his bathroom, crying. He slowly sat up in bed careful not to wake Hutch, who was sound asleep on top of the covers. Starsky put one foot over the bed and onto the floor, then the other, trying not to exasperate his sore muscles.

He stood, unsteadily at first, and shook his head in an effort to rid his mind of haze. Quietly, he walked toward the dark bathroom, curious more than anything about the clamor. He stepped onto the cold bathroom tile, and walked toward the tub. But as he drew closer, the room began to stretch and grow before him. Starsky grabbed the wall for balance, then moved again toward the tub, compelled to look behind the closed curtain. Each step he took seemed to be slow and heavy, the bathtub curtain far away.

He didn't notice the bathroom door silently shut behind him.

He was spellbound by the glowing blue light leaking from around the curtain. Hidden behind the plastic drape a woman's voice could be heard weeping. He moved closer and extended his fingers, but the curtain was still outside of his reach.

As he got closer, the weeping became unbearable. He covered his ears, desperate to block the wails. His head pounded with the sound of each sob, and tears of pain fell from his eyes. Louder and louder it became; thumping, beating, screaming. Then a ringing began in his head. But was it in his head, he wondered? Or was it, too, coming from behind the curtain?

He watched, and the curtain began to move. It began to undulate as if it were breathing. He stood frozen, fascinated and horrified at the movement. As he stared, horror-struck, a few rawboned fingers wound their way around the curtain, clutching it. A raw hand moved over the edge the tub, the skin grey and opaque, the nails black. The arm then snaked forward reaching for the floor, followed by a long, pale, bony leg. Next he saw a dark head emerge, the hair wet and reedy. Then a face. He recognized the white eyes sunken into the colorless grey skin. The bloody gaping mouth hideously smiled at him. Her eyes, too, saw him, claimed him. She moved closer, her nude and distended body disjointedly shifting on the floor, propelled ahead by graceless dead arms. One hand grasped at the slippery tile floor. Then the other. Each time, the body shifted closer to him.

He watched in revulsion as the bloated figure moved towards him. Starsky dropped his hands from his ears and took a staggering step back before freezing. One stride closer she came, then another, and another. Her grisly hand was now at his feet, reaching out. He turned to run, but the claw had a hold of his foot. He twisted and fell onto his stomach, scrambling with his fingers on the floor to escape. He reached out a hand toward the closed door, but she held him back.

He tried holding his breath against the smell of death, but as she began to claw her way up his legs, her moist skin oozing onto his, he gasped in repulsion. He closed his eyes and felt her raw fingers dig into his back and her torso slide onto his. Fingers touched his curly dark hair, pulling, knotting, hurting.

"NO!" He screamed. But she continued to consume him. "NO!" His body shook. He felt as if he was being ripped apart. "NO!"

"Starsk?" Hutch turned on the night light.

"Wha… Hutch?" A ragged breath.

"Buddy, you were yelling in your sleep. You're okay, I'm here with you. Wake up for me now. Wake up, Starsk."

Starsky peeled open his eyes. Hutch leaned over him, worry etched in the lines of his face. Starsky looked around confusedly. "I… I was in the bathroom. And that…that woman…"

"Starsk, you've been sick. You're in bed, and you're running a fever. Do you understand? What you saw was not real, Starsk. It was a dream."

"No. It was real. It was…"

"It was a dream." Hutch saw the confusion in his eyes. "Lie down, buddy. I'll get your medicine."

"It was just a dream?"

"Yeah, just a dream."

As Hutch walked toward the bathroom he heard Starsky's soft comment—"But it seemed so real."

Hutch turned on the bathroom light and reached toward the medicine cabinet when something caught his attention. He looked down at his bare feet and realized he was standing in water. He followed the trail of liquid with his eyes back to its origin; the bathtub. He slowly walked toward the tub and pulled back the curtain with one swift motion. The tub was empty and dry, much to Hutch's relief. He grabbed the medicine bottle and left the bathroom. _Now he's got me paranoid_, he thought and then looked over his shoulder toward the bathroom.

Hutch, having received Dobey's permission, took two days off from work to stay with his sick friend. Starsky slept the majority of the time, waking only for his medication and an occasional nightmare. His temperature was nearly normal by the end of the second day, and he wandered from his room in search of food.

"Hey, buddy. Good to see you up. How're you feeling?" Hutch put his book down on the coffee table and followed Starsky into the kitchen, offering an arm for his wobbly friend. He sat Starsky down at the table and began pouring a glass of juice for the famished man.

"How long I been out?" Starsky asked without looking up.

Hutch handed him the juice then sat at the table facing Starsky. "About 3 days altogether." Starsky finished the glass and Hutch poured him another.

"No wonder I'm so hungry! What we got ta eat?"

"How about a nice big bowl of oatmeal and some toast with jelly?"

Starsky gave Hutch a look of disgust. "I'm starving, Hutch. Give a guy a break."

Hutch moved to the stove and began the oats. "You haven't eaten in days, buddy. Let's go easy on your stomach, huh?"

Mumbling his way into the living room, Starsky replied, "A guy could die of hunger around here. A lot you'd care."

"What's that, Starsk?" Hutch yelled from the kitchen. Starsky rolled his eyes, then immediately regretted it. Sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, he waited for the vertigo to fade.

O0O

"Hey, wake up, Sleeping Beauty. I have your breakfast." Starsky quickly opened his eyes, surprised he'd fallen asleep. "Sit up so I can put the tray on your lap."

Starsky was astonished and delighted to see not only oatmeal and toast on his tray, but also several slices of bacon and scrambled eggs. He ate till he was full, but despite his effort, left most of the food untouched.

"I guess I wasn't as hungry as I thought," he said, not wanting to admit Hutch was right about his recovering stomach.

Hutch removed the tray. "Once you're feeling better, I'm sure you'll be able to pack away food like before. Hey, if you're feeling up to it today, I can update you on the murder file that's been following you around. I looked through it while you were sleeping, and found some things you might be interested in."

Although he was beginning to recover, Starsky had to admit he still wasn't feeling up to par; being out of bed and rummaging about the apartment had worn him out more than he wanted to admit. His throat and lungs still burned and he had a pounding headache, but if taking on this unsolved murder would potentially rid him of the revolting specter, he was all for it. So, he and Hutch made plans to discuss the case after lunch, giving Starsky time for a much needed nap.

O0O

Starsky fought his nausea as he looked at the file photo of the murder scene. The picture he held showed a nude body, dissected at the waist and placed at the scene like a broken doll. Although the picture was black and white, the ferocity of the crime was obvious.

"The coroner's report says the cause of death was hemorrhage and shock due to concussion of the brain and lacerations of the face," Hutch read from his notes, as the pale detective put the gruesome photo down and picked up another.

"Was she raped?" Starsky hated asking, but the answer could help them find the killer.

Hutch shivered visibly and Starsky could see the uncertain look on his face. Obviously Hutch was unsure about answering the question. But Starsky understood, these types of crimes never got easier to talk about. "Vaginal and anal, after death," he finally stated. "The coroner also found feces in her stomach."

Starsky rapidly jumped off the couch and ran into the bathroom. He emerged 10 minutes later, ghost-white and embarrassed.

"Sorry 'bout that. Guess my stomach is still pretty sensitive," Starsky offered in explanation.

Hutch smiled. "Do you want to keep going or call it a day?"

"Any suspects?" Starsky replied in answer to Hutch's question.

Hutch flipped through the pages of his notes. "Some hardware salesman named Peter Hanley. He was the last one to see her alive. Seems he spent the night with her in an uptown hotel, but says nothing happened."

"Oh yeah, right. Are we supposed to believe he took a beautiful woman to a hotel and then slept alone?"

"Yep." Hutch tossed the file to Starsky. "Look for yourself."

Starsky spent a minute reading Hanley's interview. "Unbelievable. It says he passed two polygraphs, though."

"And we know how reliable those are…"

Starsky offered an affirmative nod. "What else did you find out?" he asked

Hutch flipped a few more pages in his notebook until he found what he was looking for. "A letter was sent to the Bay City Examiner along with several photos and some personal papers, among other things. The note said they belonged to Elizabeth. However, no prints were found."

Starsky knew Hutch was waiting for him to ask the thousand dollar question, so he obliged. "Gloves?" he guessed.

"Nope. Gasoline," Hutch continued. "Someone used gasoline to remove the prints. Let's see… along with the pictures, the newspaper received her birth certificate, social security card, and…here's the big one, an address book belonging to Billy Grippo."

Now Starsky was really surprised. "The Mafia guy?"

"The one and only. Back then he owned a night club and theater. Dobey says Grippo was just getting started in the business."

"Well, he's the real deal now."

"There's more, Starsk. Several pages were torn out of his address book."

"What the hell was she doing with Billy Grippo's address book in the first place?" Starsky was really hoping this case did not involve the Mafia. If it did, then Elizabeth's murder would most likely be impossible to solve.

"That's not all I found out, buddy." Hutch seemed pleased with all the new information he was giving his partner.

"Well, spill it, blondie, we don't have all night." Actually they did, but Starsky was curious to hear what Hutch had uncovered.

"Well, it seems a reporter for one of Hearst's papers remembered a similar murder a year before, in 1946 A socialite was strangled, raped, and cut up pretty badly before she was dumped face down in a bathtub."

Starsky's eyes grew big and his face paled. "A bathtub? She was left in a bathtub?" What…what about the other one, E…Elizabeth?"

"Coroner's report says she was washed of all blood before being dumped, most likely in a tub."

"Jesus, Hutch. What does this mean?" Starsky put his throbbing head into his hands.

Hutch took a deep breath before answering. "It means we may be dealing with a serial killer."

Starsky took a deep breath and audibly released it. "Well, shit." He shrugged his shoulders in resignation. "Where do you wanna start?"

"If you're feeling better tomorrow, how about you call Minnie and see what she can find on Hanley. Maybe then we can cross him off the suspect list. After work, I'll go visit Betty Talbert. Since she found the body, maybe she can give us something new to work with. According to the DMV she still lives in the same house."

Starsky was quiet a moment, then with gleaming eyes he looked up, grateful for his caring partner. "Thanks, Hutch."

"Any time, partner." Hutch smiled and patted the brunet's leg. "Now get to bed. We'll have plenty of time to talk tomorrow."

For several minutes the two men sat quietly together, both caught up in their own thoughts. Then Starsky stood up and strolled to the bathroom. He knew Hutch followed him with his eyes, ready to jump in if needed. But despite his still somewhat-shaky feeling, he was doing better than he had been.

He brushed his teeth and climbed under his covers, relieved Hutch was staying another night, despite his feelings of guilt. Starsky knew his couch was lumpy and uncomfortable to sleep on, and would probably give Hutch a stiff neck and sore back. But, he'd make it up to the Blintz later, he promised himself before falling into a fitful sleep.

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

**A BIG thank you to everyone who has read and reviewed; I'm sorry I have not replied to all, but know that I truly appreciate reading them and that they DO help make this a better story.**

_**Broken Doll-Chapter 7**_

Though his temperature was nearly normal, and he was beginning to feel human again, nightmares still plagued Starsky's sleep. The same visions appeared over and over; the dead woman, Elizabeth, pleading for help, and the ghostly corpse clawing its way towards him. In his dream he ran from them both, but his legs were thick and felt as if he were dragging them through tar.

He woke several times, vaguely realizing he was awake and safe, and then, once again succumbed to sleep, haunted by his visions.

At about 6 AM he woke panting and covered in sweat. He could hear Hutch banging around in the kitchen, and, despite his fatigue, decided to join his friend for breakfast.

Sleep wasn't bringing the rest he longed for.

O0O

Starsky felt somewhat better after showering, and even managed to pull on a clean pair of sweats and an old shirt. _Hey_, he thought, _at this rate, maybe I can go back to work tomorrow. _He walked toward the kitchen in search of Hutch and instead found a note attached to the front of the fridge with a magnet:

**Starsk,**

**Went in to finish reports -before Dobey misses them.**

**Soup is on the stove. Eat!**

**See you tonight.**

**Hutch**

In the kitchen he ate a bowl of the minestrone soup Hutch left simmering on the stove. After, he retreated back to the couch to watch some television while waiting for Minnie to call with the information he requested on Peter Hanley.

He woke several hours later to a ringing phone and a pounding in his head. He grabbed the receiver unsteadily and was having trouble holding onto it, dropping it several times. When he finally spoke, a full minute had passed.

"Shit, umm…sorry, h-hello?"

"Starsk? You okay?" Hutch voiced his concern.

"Yeah, I was asleep…I dropped the damn phone." Starsky spoke in a sleep-slurred voice.

"I was worried. Minnie came into the office to say she'd been trying to call you for an hour. I thought I'd give it a try before panicking." Hutch added a soft laugh to the last part, obviously relieved that it was just fatigue.

"Guess I was really out of it. Anyway, what'd she find out?" He brushed a hand through his curly hair, trying to wake up.

"This Hanley turkey was married with children when he was messing around with the victim. Other than that, he's had a few parking violations, an unpaid speeding ticket, but nothing indicative of a violent nature shows up in any records. His alibi seems to stand up, too, Starsk."

Starsky was awake now, and trying to get back into cop mode despite a headache that was beginning to throb in his temples. "Did…uh…Minnie say where Hanley lives now?"

"Yeah, Rose Heights," Hutch replied, indicating a local cemetery. "He died in '68 of heart failure….you know what, Starsk? I'm almost done with our reports. I think I'll call it a day and head over to your place. We can talk about the case over dinner. How does pizza sound?"

"Pizza sounds good. Could you bring some pop, too?" He smiled, knowing Hutch was leaving work early to check up on him.

"Sure, I'll see you in an hour."

Starsky hung up the phone and hurried into the kitchen to take his forgotten antibiotics. _Knowing Hutch_, he mused, _he'll count the pills_.

O0O

An hour later, Hutch watched Starsky pick at the greasy pepperoni on a slice of pizza he was pretending to eat, and shook his head. He knew Starsky wasn't fully recovered though his partner tried hard to conceal it. His best friend was stubborn, mulish even. So he was not surprised when Starsky informed him that he would be returning to work in the morning. Hutch tried to object, but when Starsky got an idea in his curly head, there was not much anyone could do to talk him out of it. Besides, Hutch missed having his partner on the street next to him.

"Starsky, I know you're not eating the pizza, so stop pretending. I can make you some soup. There's another can in the cupboard."

"Na, I'm not really hungry." He put the plate on the table and wiped his oily fingers on his napkin. "Some root beer would be nice, though, and a couple aspirin."

Hutch complied and carried the frothy drink over to the couch where Starsky was sitting. He handed the glass to Starsky and sat down heavily next to him with a sigh.

"Hard day?" Starsky asked through a root beer moustache.

Hutch smiled fondly and pointed to his friend's lip, offering Starsky a Kleenex. "Too much pizza, it's making me sleepy."

"It doesn't make me sleepy."

"Your stomach has obviously built up a tolerance for fatty foods. Just think of my body as a high performance car, Starsk. I use the best fuel available to keep my body in this great shape." Hutch flexed his arm muscle in show. "Unlike you, who is a jalopy, my friend. A jalopy." Hutch patted Starsky's belly for emphasis.

Starsky knocked the hand from his belly with an exaggerated frown and replied, "It's not fair to pick on a man who's down, Hutch…I'm hurt. I'm really hurt."

Hutch let out a guffaw and threw his arm around the smaller man's neck, pulling him into a sideways hug. Soon both men were laughing and relaxed. Rather than spoil the evening by talking about the case, the detectives decided to spend a quiet evening watching "Hawaii Five-O" and "Serpico." Just after eleven, Starsky pushed himself off the couch and retrieved blankets for Hutch.

"You know, Hutch, we're nothing like Serpico. And those Hawaiian turkeys? Get real. Dobey would never let us get away with that crap," he reflected as he walked into his room.

Hutch stretched his long legs out on the couch and reached behind himself to fluff his pillow. "You're right…I'm more like McCloud and you're kinda more like… Columbo."

"Smart ass," Starsky replied from the door way as he chucked a chair cushion at the blond's head. "Night, Hutch."

"Night, Columbo." Hutch covered his head to avoid the final cushion lobbed at his body.

O0O

The next morning Starsky woke with a thick cough and headed into his bathroom in search of aspirin for his pounding head. He climbed into the steamy shower hoping to feel and look more human. A quick glance at his muscular body proved the bruises and scratches were beginning to heal and fade, along with the fear that had consumed him such a short time ago. After toweling off, Starsky grabbed his razor and began slowly removing the thick stubble that covered his chin. He looked at himself closely in the mirror, disappointed to see shadowy circles still darkening his eyes. _Terrific_. _Try and slip that past Hutch_, he thought. After brushing his unruly hair, he went into the living room to wake the sleeping blond. He was pleasantly surprised, though, to discover that Hutch was already awake and brewing fresh coffee.

"I heard that cough, buddy. Are you sure you're feeling up to work today?" Hutch asked as he handed Starsky an empty cup. Starsky filled it to the top with steaming liquid and proceeded to dump in several teaspoons of sugar.

"Yeah, my throat's just a little dry," he lied.

"Okay." Hutch sounded doubtful. "Well then, I guess I'd better get dressed so we're not late for work." Hutch retreated into the bathroom leaving Starsky alone in the kitchen with his feelings of guilt. He hated lying to Hutch, but if telling the truth meant staying home another day, well, he'd just have to lie…and keep feeling guilty. He and watched with an amused look as Starsky pivoted from foot to foot trying to control his excitement about going back to work.

"What's wrong Starsk? Ants in your pants?" Hutch smiled at his anxious partner.

"Come on, Hutch," Starsky pulled the taller man's sleeve in order to hurry him along, "We're going to be late."

"I haven't had breakfast yet…" he replied, trying—unsuccessfully—to snatch a banana.

Starsky grabbed their guns and pushed Hutch out the door. "We can grab something on the way in."

"Yeah, okay. But go somewhere I can get a bran muffin, will ya?"

O0O

As the detectives finished their last call and were returning to the office, the sky was just beginning to darken and mountain-like black clouds were threatening rain. Starsky was feeling the long day in his overly-tired muscles and burning lungs, but he_ had_ been able to stifle his cough most of the day. Mostly. He excused himself and went into the men's room for another swig of the horrible but effective cough syrup. When he returned, Hutch was on the phone and signaling wildly at Starsky. Curious, Starsky moved to his partner's side and leaned down to listen in on the strange conversation.

"Whatever you can remember will be fine," Hutch assured into the phone.

"Well, I just don't know if I can tell you any more than you already know," the woman replied.

To Starsky's questioning look, Hutch mouthed, _Betty Talbert_. Starsky's eyes got wide with understanding.

"I realize it's been a long time, ma'am, but-"

"That poor woman. It was horrible what happened to her. Horrible."

"Yes, ma'am, that's why we'd like to talk to you, to-" Hutch was unsuccessfully trying to talk to the overwrought woman.

"Oh, my, yes, yes, yes. By all means. Anything I can do to help. I'm not really sure how, but I will try."

"Thank you, Mrs. Talbert. Would-"

"Did you say you were a detective, young man?"

"Yes, ma'am. Now would-"

"I have a single daughter, you know. Lovely. Just lovely, she is."

"I'm sure she is, ma'am. Now about tonight-" Hutch rolled his eyes when he was once again interrupted.

"She's a police officer, too, you know."

"Yes, ma'am. Would this evening around eight be alright?"

"Oh?"

"To talk about the case, ma'am."

"Oh….Oh, yes, just fine. It's just me at home these days. Now that Fred's gone. Bless his soul. Eight would be fine."

"Okay, we'll see you then. Thank you, Mrs. Talbert." Hutch quickly hung up and looked at Starsky who was grinning widely. "What's so funny?"

"You sure have a way with women, partner. Let's just hope you can get her to talk like that tonight." Starsky grabbed a stale donut and cold bitter coffee from the top of Hutch's desk and sat down to begin reviewing the case. Twenty minutes passed before either man spoke.

"Hey, Starsk?" Starsky recognized the tone of his voice—Hutch was onto something. "What do we know about serial killers?"

"What do you mean?" Starsky replied, unsure what direction Hutch was taking.

"I mean, do they begin their careers as experienced killers and then they just keep on killing without escalating…"

"…Or do they practice on victims, making mistakes along the way, until they have a set MO?" Starsky thought of the implication for a moment. "Shit! Why didn't I think of that earlier?"

Hoping to ease his friend's self-rebuke, Hutch answered softly, "I don't know, buddy. Maybe it was because you were a little preoccupied with getting well. Anyway, we thought of it now." He quickly returned to the subject of the case. "Why don't you see if Frank can pull any reports of any similar attacks, say, the last 30 years, and I'll go down into the archives and see what's left of the evidence boxes from this case."

Unsure why he suddenly felt drawn to the basement, Starsky told Hutch he would go. Hutch looked taken aback at first; sure his still sick partner would choose the easier task of calling Frank. Shrugged his surprise off, Hutch decided Starsky knew what he was doing and picked up the phone to call Frank.

O0O

As he reached the bottom of the archive stairs, a crushingly dank smell caused Starsky to reconsider his unpleasant task, but the voice of the officer on duty gave him the incentive to continue.

"Welcome back, Sergeant."

"Thanks, Taylor. Where can I find -"

(_Give a big welcome to the Hank Dobson Band!_)

(_Clap, clap, clap!)_

Starsky looked in amazement at the scene before him. The basement archive was no longer full of boxes; it was now 1946, and he was standing in a nightclub, complete with laughter and dancing and drinks. Balloons toppled from the ceiling and big band music filled the air along with popping party favors and champagne corks. He smiled faintly.

Cigarette smoke hung thick in the air, and loud, drunken laughter boomed through the club. Couples sat in booths petting and drinking, while larger groups gathered round tables on the edge of the dance floor, chatting loudly.

"_I'm glad to see you're back, Sergeant_." A dark-haired woman floated gracefully up and placed her thin arms around the detective's neck. "_I missed you_." Her richly deep-red lips pressed against his willing mouth in a warm welcome. He felt aroused by her tantalizing stroke, and kissed her back pressing his hard body against her supple form. She relaxed against his strong arms, and drew him closer into a deep kiss.

"_Elizabeth_," he said breathlessly when they parted. "_You're more beautiful than the last time I saw you. Care to dance with a soldier?"_

He took her porcelain-like hand in his and led Elizabeth to the dance floor. Several couples were already swaying to the music of the band, while others watched from the surrounding tables. The clatter of glasses and mumble of voices mixed with the resonance of the band added to the liveliness of the party.

"_When'd you get back, Tommy_?"

"_Just this afternoon. I was hoping to find you here_," he whispered to her as his mouth slowly nibbled her ear.

"_Oh? To talk about how our relationship ended? I think we've said enough, don't you?"_ With that she angrily turned her head and pushed away from her dance partner.

He roughly grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him, looking deeply into her eyes. Her breath was hot on his face and he soaked it in, longingly. "_I was wrong for leaving. I love you, Elizabeth."_

"_You said you'd never leave again. You said you'd leave the service. But you left me, Tommy. You lied and you left. I think you've already proven to me what's more important to you."_

"_I understand you're angry. You've every right to be. It was the job, the war, Beth, but I asked for an early release today. I'm getting out of the Air Corps, and I want you to marry me. I love you, Beth, more than anything. I know that now_."

"_You're really getting out_?" She ran her red-painted nails over the ribbons on his uniform, causing him to shiver.

"_Really, sweetheart. I promise_." Holding her face in his strong hands, he passionately kissed her mouth his tongue tasting the sweetness of her lips. He had no idea what time it was, but he was with a beautiful woman, and time didn't matter.

They danced in each other's arms for what seemed like hours. Couples came and went from the dance floor, completely unnoticed by the attractive young couple lost in each other. Elizabeth ran one hand under his jacket, the other she slid around his muscled abdomen and down to the bulge in his slacks, grasping him firmly in her hand. He pulled her tighter, feeling the heat build in his groin, his breath quickening. His tongue urged her lips apart as his hand longingly cupped her breast, running his thumb around her awakened nipple. She let out a small gasp of pleasure as they both began to climax together.

A low ringing began in his ears and grew painfully louder. Sweat bled down his face. He was becoming dizzy and the club became a murky haze of smoke. The whole room was beginning to spin as if he was drunk. He drew in a deep and sudden mouthful of air but couldn't rid himself of the suffocating ringing that was drilling into his skull.

"_Tommy, are you alright_? The faint voice of Elizabeth called to him. He felt her slipping away, but was unable to grasp her. He continued to reach out, clutching at the fading figure, until she was all but a light mist.

"_Tommy_?" The voice grew fainter as the buzzing grew louder. He desperately reached out to her, but she seemed to fade into the droning noise that was beating in his ears and head.

He needed to vomit…he was sick, and the noise was pulsating in his throbbing head. His chest began to feel tight and saliva began to pool in his mouth. His arms grew heavy.

"_Sergeant_? _Sergeant?_" Another faint voice joined Elizabeth's. "Sergeant? Sergeant? Are you alright? Sir?"

Starsky rapidly blinked his eyes trying to clear his head and swallowed. He was at the top of the basement stairs, and in his arms he held a heavy, brown evidence box.

"Um, yeah." Starsky looked down the long white hallway trying to remember where he had been. "Just, uh, dizzy for a minute," he mumbled to the concerned officer as he walked slowly back to the squad room, stopping at the drinking fountain on the way.

To Be Continued


	8. Chapter 8

Broken Doll-Chapter 8

Starsky entered the squad room still carrying the heavy box, and immediately set it down on the desk in front of Hutch. He was still unsure of recent events, but willing to attribute the lost time to his continuing illness. He sat down heavily in his chair and began pulling the yellowing brittle tape from the box.

Detectives in the squad room were smiling and muttering to each other, and some even pointed towards the dark-haired detective. After several minutes of odd looks and whispered laughs behind his back, he leaned forward on his desk and signaled Hutch to come closer.

"What's up with them?" He gestured with his head toward the others.

Hutch smiled knowingly. "Well, it's probably all the perfume your wearing."

"What?"

"You smell like my mom."

"I don't really, do I?"

"I'm afraid so, buddy. Tea Rose to be exact. It's my mom's favorite. Dad buys it for her every Christmas like clockwork."

"I don't smell it." Starsky sniffed his shirt, causing trickles of laughter from the other detectives in the squad room.

"Hutchinson! Starsky! My office!" Dobey shouted through his closed door.

The two detectives cautiously entered the Captain's office, Starsky consciously closing the door quietly behind them.

"Sit down you two. Starsky! Why do you smell like my mother?"

Dobey's comment caused Hutch to chortle loudly as Starsky's face reddened.

"I don't know, Cap. I don't smell anything."

"Well, just make sure you shower before your next shift!"

Hutch wiped his eyes and tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle his laughter, not noticing the wicked look his partner was shooting in his direction.

"Okay, okay, that's enough, Hutchinson," Dobey said, also wiping his eyes. Then, growing serious, added, "I want to know what you have on the Mallone case."

Starsky raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't know you were interested, Cap."

"Of course, I'm interested, Starsky." Dobey repositioned his abundant personage in his chair, almost as if embarrassed. "It was the biggest unsolved crime of its time. If you two solve it, think of the PR this department would get!"

Hutch seemed to know his boss's interest was greater than that. "It's just for the PR, huh, Captain?" He cocked his head.

"Well," the Captain said, blustering, "I guess I want to find out what happened to the poor girl as badly as you two. I was a street cop once, too, you know."

"We know, Cap. I guess we all want to know what happened to Elizabeth, huh?" Starsky's words brought everyone back to the case at hand.

"Well, what've you got so far?" Dobey asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"We think we have a serial killer at work here, Captain." Hutch proceeded to give him an abbreviated account of his recent phone conversation. "I just got off the phone with Frank. He was able to cross reference our perp's MO with 19 other unsolved crimes in the last 30 years. The last three attacks, which we know of, happened in the last two years." All eyes were on Hutch as he continued to recount the news. "Two of the three victims were killed."

"And the third?" Starsky was hoping against hope they finally had a lead.

"She was attacked, but she got away. It was written up as an attempted rape. But in the report, she says she was forced to bathe."

"Where did these other attacks happen? Obviously, not here. Otherwise, someone would have caught on to the pattern."

"Right, Cap," Hutch responded. "Some were in Sacramento, Yolo County, San Diego, and the last one happened here in Bay City, six months ago. She's still living here, and I got her address. Her name is Anna Lewis." Hutch held up a small piece of paper.

"Can we get the coroner's reports on the other victims?" Starsky asked the Captain.

"I'll call for them right away. In the meantime, Hutch, call the girl and get an interview with her. And Starsky!"

"Yeah, Cap?"

"Go shower before you two interview anyone. You stink!"

With that, the partners exited Dobey's office and returned to their desks. While Hutch phoned the last possible victim, Starsky opened the evidence box and began to sort through the aged relics.

He began by pulling out the sealed contents, opening the first of several fragile paper bags. Looking in, he saw the twinkling of rubies, sapphires, rings, bracelets, and some expensive looking earrings. He had the strong sense that he'd seen this jewelry on someone before, but with a quick shake of his head he set the thought aside. The next bag contained a group of letters held together by a desiccated rubber band, but he also set them temporarily aside, feeling the need to look further inside the box.

Looking in once more, he saw a cardboard container, and using his scissors carefully cut away the tape.

"What ya got there, Starsk?" Hutch asked when he'd hung up the phone.

Starsky continued staring into the contents. "Huh? Oh. Bones."

"_Bones _are in the evidence box?" Hutch sounded surprised.

"They're Elizabeth's," Starsky stated matter-of-factly. "Think we might be able to learn something about our killer from these?" he asked hopefully.

Hutch involuntarily shivered. "It's certainly worth a shot, I suppose. Let's give them to Gail on our way out. She likes you, so maybe she'll do us a favor and give us a rush job?"

"She does not _like_ me. We're just friends."

"It didn't look like you were just friends at Bernie's retirement party last month," Hutch shot back.

"Oh, come on, Hutch. You were too busy making out with that new mail clerk to notice anything." Starsky knew Hutch was teasing, so he kept up the banter as best he could. "Besides, we've only gone out once since then, and it was bowling…_and_ we went dutch."

"Yeah? Wasn't she there the next morning when I picked you up?"

"It's not like we're engaged, you know."

"All I said was that she likes you."

"She does not _like_ me. We're just friends."

The argument continued all the way down to the forensics lab and into the police garage where the Torino sat.

O0O

Realizing that it was almost time to meet Mrs. Talbert, Starsky showered at Hutch's apartment, which was mostly on the way. A hot shower and a quick change of clothes later, Starsky and Hutch pulled up to Betty Talbert's home.

Once parked, both detectives climbed out to survey the area.

"That must have been the field where the body was dumped." Hutch pointed down the street, past several old but well-kept homes to an obviously newer housing project.

"Too bad it's being developed. Who knows how much evidence was left at the scene." Starsky shook his head at the lost opportunity and headed towards the front door of the saltbox home.

Hutch rang the bell, which gave off a tinny ring. "Guess we'll never know, huh, partner?"

A small woman of about 60 answered the door, wearing a faded apron over an equally-faded pink ruffle dress. Her dyed platinum hair was pulled neatly into clips and hung in tight ringlets at the sides of her head, while her bright red cheeks were creased with blush, and her lips were painted like hearts. Blue eyeliner circled her wrinkled, sad eyes. She politely bade the detectives in and offered each a chair in her faded living room.

"Mrs. Talbert, my partner and I were hoping you could answer a few questions for us concerning the Elizabeth Mallone case." Starsky pulled a small black notebook and pen from his leather jacket.

"Certainly, detectives. I'll do anything to help. My goodness, yes. Such a tragedy. Tragedy." Mrs. Talbert shook her head and rung a pink lace hanky between her hands. "May I offer you some tea?"

"No, thank you, Mrs. Talbert, we're fine," Hutch answered, slightly hoarse from all the dust floating about in the air.

"No, no, it's not a problem. I have it right here." She pointed to the kitchen. "I'll be just a jiffy. Now you boys relax while I get your tea."

Hutch rested his head in his hand and massaged his temples while Starsky wandered about the room fingering various objects lying around. When he came to the fire place mantel, a picture caught his attention. Picking it up, he took it over to Hutch.

"Hey, does she look familiar to you?" He shoved the picture in front of Hutch.

Hutch took the picture of the attractive young woman and held it up for a better look. The picture looked to be about 10 years old, and the young lady in it had her hair in ponytails, appearing even younger than she probably was. He looked closely at the eyes.

"Yeah, she does. Now where have I seen her?"

"Oh, I see you found the picture of my daughter, Emma. Isn't she lovely? Single, too." Mrs. Talbert came into the room carrying a tray with teacups full of steaming liquid.

Hutch handed the picture back to his partner. "Is she the police officer you were telling me about?"

Starsky snapped his finger in sudden recognition. "Emma…something or other- in records! She just transferred in from Hill Top… remember, Hutch? We met her at the Pig Bowl last month. She was a cheerleader for our team."

How could Hutch forget the annual Police vs. Sheriff Football game? Every year he came away from the game limping. At least this year they had won.

"Oh, yeah, she's the cute one that was wearing the really short, tight…" Hutch quickly stopped what he was saying and looked over to Mrs. Talbert. "Sorry," he added, his cheeks burning.

"Yes, that's her." Mrs. Talbert seemed oblivious to Hutch's gaffe. "She became an officer right after she graduated from Bay State College. Isn't she lovely?" Mrs. Talbert lovingly took the picture from Starsky's hand and carefully replaced it on the mantel. "She was with me when I found the body."

She handed each detective a cup and saucer, then handed around a cup of sugar cubes. Starsky looked at the cubes, but noticing the dark dust covering them, politely declined.

Hutch took a sip of the hot tea. "That must have been very hard on the two of you."

"Emma had nightmares for months. She was only three at the time, but she wasn't dumb. She knew what she saw was evil. What kind of monster could do something like that to that poor woman? Horrible. It was just plain horrible." Mrs. Talbert opened a small flask she was carrying in her pocket and poured several fingers-worth into her tea.

The two partners shared a quick look before Starsky spoke. "What exactly did you see, ma'am?"

"She was lying there, on the ground, in two pieces. There was no blood, I remember. But she had gashes on her mouth, all over her face, really. And the bottom half of her was slightly off to the side, kind of splayed out, if you know what I mean?"

"Did you notice anyone unusual around the area that day?" Hutch asked.

The older woman thought briefly before answering. "There was a young woman taking pictures. I thought she was with the paper, which struck me as unusual, because that's not the kind of job young ladies generally had back then. Anyway, she looked really nervous and left when the police arrived."

Starsky sat up tall at this piece of news. "You mean she was there before the police?"

"Well, yes."

"Were any other reporters there with her?" Starsky continued his line of questioning.

"No. Not that I recall. No reporters yet. There were some neighbors and passers-by that came to see." Mrs. Talbert seemed confused by the interest the dark-haired detective had in the reporter. "Is this important? She was just a reporter."

Hutch asked the next question. "Mrs. Talbert, who called the police?"

"Well, I don't know. I started screaming and then suddenly people were gathered all around, and that photographer was flashing her camera. It was all very confusing, detectives." She took a long drink from her cup, hands shaking.

"I'm sure it was, Mrs. Talbert." Starsky attempted to calm the woman. "You're doing very well. You're being more helpful than you know."

"Ma'am, when did the other media arrive?"

She thought a moment before answering. "Just after the police. I remember because just after the police finished interviewing me, the reporters scared Emma when they surrounded us and started taking photos."

"Was the first photographer there at this time?" Starsky asked.

"Oh, no, no, no, as I said before, she left when the police came."

"I see. Mrs. Talbert, can you remember what this photographer looked like?" Hutch could see that Starsky was doubtful she would remember, but there was always hope.

"Oh, my, yes. I never forget a face."

Starsky perked up again and encouraged her to continue.

"Well, it was her eyes that caught my attention. They were an unusual shade of blue, almost purple. And striking. Very striking. But I remember thinking that she was very tall for a woman. She stood at least six feet."

"What else do you remember about her? Hair color, any unusual marks?" Starsky tried to remain calm even though his heart was racing at the breakthrough.

"She was a redhead, I think. Yes, a redhead."

"Mrs. Talbert," Hutch asked hopefully, "did you see what she was driving?"

"She walked away on foot, but later that day I saw her drive past our house in a black Ford. I remember because I was expecting Fred home and when I heard a car, I looked out the window and saw that reporter. I guess I just thought she was back taking more photos."

Standing, Hutch nodded to Starsky, who said, "Thank you, Mrs. Talbert. You've been very helpful."

"Well, I just wish you could catch the man that did this. I haven't slept well since it happened, you know."

Bidding their witness good night, the partners stepped out into the pouring rain and dashed for the dry interior of the Torino.

O0O

"Let's see if Anna Lewis is home and'll talk to us. I have a feeling we may have just been given a break, and I'd like to see if she can give us any insight."

Starsky swung his muscular legs into the Torino and started the engine. "You think the reporter may know our guy?"

"Her behavior did sound suspicious, and it's the best lead we have so far. Hell, it's our only lead." Hutch dug in his pocket for the next address.

"I sure hope you're right, partner."

Starsky turned the car toward the address Hutch held and the engine roared in response.

Cold house calls were not SOP for the detectives, but, then, neither was investigating a thirty year old murder. Besides, interviewing Anna face to face somehow seemed more respectful than an impersonal phone call.

O0O

Twenty minutes later the two detectives stood inside the warm apartment of Anna Lewis, both astonished by what they saw. Anna, an attractive woman of about 25, was a doppelganger of Elizabeth Mallone. Like Elizabeth, Anna had long hair the color of coal that contrasted sharply with her milky skin, bringing out her dusky eyes and thick lashes. Her full ruby lips matched the rich blush of her cheek. And, just like Elizabeth, Starsky noticed, Anna was a natural beauty. He felt his breath catch in his chest for just a moment.

"Thank you for seeing us without an appointment, Miss Lewis." Starsky looked directly into her large almond-shaped eyes as he spoke.

Anna made a wide gesture inviting the detectives to sit. "I'm just a little confused about why the police want to interview me after all this time."

"That's understandable, miss. It has been a long time, too long. If it's okay with you, we just need to ask a few questions, then we'll be on our way." Hutch pulled out his note pad and flipped it open on his lap.

Starsky was still focused on Anna's face when Hutch nudged him in the arm with his elbow, giving him a silent look Starsky translated as: _Stop gawking and ask questions._

"Miss Lewis…" Starsky began.

"Call me Anna."

"Anna," Starsky said, smiling amiably, "were you able to see your attacker?"

The young woman inhaled deeply and appeared lost in thought. After a brief pause, she spoke. "Yes, I …I think I did. But not very well—he was wearing something over his face." She moved her hands to demonstrate.

Starsky was struck by how melancholy her eyes looked, and he fought the strange urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her. A light sweat broke out on his forehead_. What is wrong with me_, he wondered to himself.

"Can you try describe to him? Height, weight, distinguishing marks?" Hutch looked thoughtfully at the woman.

"He was about six feet tall, 150 pounds." Anna's eyes were fixed on her lap.

"His face, Anna, did you see any of his face?" Starsky pushed her, softly, for the answer.

He could see she was struggling to remain in control, and impulsively leaned forward to take her small hand in his. Warm tears began to trickle from her eyes, and he could feel her trembling.

"I know this is very difficult for you, Anna. But it's important that you stay strong and tell us everything you know. We want to help you, but we can only do that if you answer our questions. Do you understand?"

Anna quietly nodded her head and began to speak. "I…I though I was past this. That, that I'd overcome what that _monster_ did to me. It happened so long ago, but talking about it now…well, I…I…I'm not sure I can do this again."

"Anna, sweetheart, we know you're scared." Starsky looked to Hutch for help. "But, you're safe now. We won't let anything happen to you."

"Anna, we need to know what he did to you so we can stop him before he hurts anyone else. Only you can help us, Anna. We need you to help us." Two pair of azure eyes looked compassionately at the terror-stricken woman.

Anna reached up to her neck and removed the thick, black, velvet choker she was wearing, revealing a fading pink scar.

"He did this to me," she said lifting her chin so the detectives could have a better look.

Starsky leaned over to her chair and ran his eyes along the path the scar took, directly around her throat. He could see by Hutch's expression that his friend was just as horrified as he.

"He grabbed me from behind as I was unloading groceries from my car. I felt something across my face and then I blacked out." She tied the choker back around her neck hiding the scar.

"Chloroform," Hutch stated, looking to his nodding partner for confirmation.

"I woke up later, naked, and my hands and feet were tied. He was standing over me wearing a white mask, like doctors wear. That's when he…he," Anna once again began to cry and buried her face in her hands.

"Anna, did he rape you?" Starsky stomach churned at his question, but he had to know.

She shook her head "_No_" and wiped her nose with the tissue Starsky handed her. "No, he…he tried to…but he wasn't able. Everything he did was done to humiliate me. And….he succeeded." She broke down in sobs.

There was no need to ask for details tonight: they already knew from Elizabeth's file what this barbarian was capable of. If they really had to know, they would ask later, after she had a chance to recover from this invasive round of questioning.

Starsky took hold of her hand again. "Anna, do you need to stop?"

Anna shook her head and held tightly onto the detective's hand.

"You're doing real good, sweetheart. Real good. Can you tell us what he did next?" Starsky asked.

"He dragged me into the bathroom by my hair and forced me into the bathtub. He pushed me under the water and held me there. The ropes loosened some and I was finally able to get one arm free. I kept kicking and scratching and…and that's when I saw his face. I think I pulled off his mask. And, and I saw him through the water. I was drowning, but I saw him. Oh, God, I saw him…" Anna covered her face with her trembling hands.

Hutch looked at her intently. "What did you see, Anna?" he asked softly.

"His eyes! I could see the rage in his eyes! I tried screaming, but he held me under. Then he put something around my neck and pulled it tight. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't scream. The next thing I remember, I was lying on the grass in Kirkland Park. A policeman was covering me with a blanket, and lights were flashing all around."

Starsky gave her a warm smile and took her hand. "You are a very brave lady, Anna. I'm proud of you."

Anna smiled back shyly, wiping tears from her eyes, only then noticing how truly handsome the young curly-haired detective was.

"I just have a few more routine questions for you, Anna, if that's okay," Hutch asked, knowing any more of a description of the maniac from her tonight would be impossible.

"Anna, would you mind if I got some water while my partner wraps this up?" Starsky interrupted. He usually didn't ask for refreshments while in a witness's house, but his skin was burning up and his mouth had turned to cotton.

"Sure, let me get it for you, Detective Starsky." Anna began to rise, but Starsky stopped her with a hand to her shoulder and a charming smile.

"I'll get it. And you can call me Dave." Hutch rolled his eyes.

Starsky felt painfully warm, and his chest was beginning to burn as he politely excused himself and went to the kitchen.

He could hear Hutch asking Anna where she had gone grocery shopping the night she was attacked, but didn't hear the soft answer through the ringing in his ears.

Wearily he took a glass from the cupboard and filled it with cold water from the tap. After greedily drinking the cold liquid, he set the glass on the sink and returned to the entry way.

"Thank you, Anna, for talking to us. You've been a huge help." Hutch gently shook her hand.

"I really hope so, Detective Hutchinson."

Starsky handed her his card. "Please call us if you need anything, Anna. Anything at all." His fingers brushed across hers, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she met his eyes and smiled.

"You ready, Starsk?" Hutch handed Starsky his leather jacket, and they headed out the door into the cool damp night.

O0O

Once at the car, Starsky angrily slammed his fist onto the roof. "Damn it, Hutch! How could someone do that to her? We have to get this turkey."

"I know, buddy. We will. Let's go to Huggy's, huh? See if he's heard anything."

"Yeah. Okay." Starsky rubbed his sore fist as he climbed into the car. He was feeling tired and sick and just wanted to go home, but he didn't want to be alone, either. So, after a large sigh, he drove the car to The Pits.

To be continued


	9. Chapter 9

Broken Doll-Chapter 9

The sigh from Starsky did not go unnoticed by Hutch, and he stole a look at his friend, just now noticing the beads of sweat on his face.

"Maybe we should call it a night, Gordo? You look pretty beat, pal."

"Yeah, I'm a little tired, I guess." Starsky squinted against the glare of the street lights on the damp road.

Hutch shook his head, knowing his stoic partner would never admit to still being sick.

"If you're sick, we can…"

"I'm just tired, Hutch. Back off, huh?"

Hutch lifted his hands in surrender. "Okay, I'm sorry, Starsk. I won't mention it again."

They sat in silence the rest of the drive, Starsky seemingly lost in thought. Hutch tried not to worry about his friend, but couldn't help thinking that his partner was too wrapped up in the case. Maybe even to the point of self neglect. Well, regardless, Hutch knew Starsky was still sick and that it was his job to worry.

The car pulled up in front of their usual haunt, and Starsky put a warm hand on Hutch's arm before climbing out.

"I'm sorry, Hutch. I didn't mean to snap. It's just that—I don't know…this case really has me on edge, I guess, but I shouldn't take it out on you. Anyway, buddy, I'm really sorry. Forgive me?"

Hutch smiled, never able to stay mad at his friend. "Sure, if you're buying."

"Anything you want, buddy."

"Zebra Three. Zebra Three. Stand by for a patch-through from Captain Dobey." The radio cracked to life, eliciting a moan from the two detectives.

Hutch reached for the mic. "This is Zebra Three, standing by." He looked at Starsky and shrugged his shoulders.

"This is Captain Dobey. Who'm I talking to?" the gruff voice demanded.

"It's Hutch, Captain. What'cha got?"

Dobey sounded irritable. "Hutch, you and Starsky get over to Park and 15th. There's something here I think you should see."

"We'll be there in a few, Cap." Hutch signed off and closed the passenger door with a bang.

"That's in Killingsworth, isn't it? Yeah, that's where the old Cline Hotel burned down last year—remember?" Starsky asked as he tore out of the Pits' parking lot, spraying sheets of water.

"Yeah, I remember. Insurance fraud, guy's serving five years. It's just an empty lot now, but wasn't the city thinking about building some low income housing there, or something?"

When Starsky didn't answer, Hutch glanced at him and saw the weariness that covered his partner's face. _So much for getting you fed, huh, buddy?_

"Starsk?" Still no answer from the obviously exhausted man. "Earth calling Detective Starsky."

Starsky answered without turning his head. "Sorry, I was thinking about Anna. Why was she let go? You don't think he'll come back for her, do you?"

Hutch knew his partner well enough to recognize when he had more than just professional concern for someone. And, in this case, he thought there had been some mutual attraction between his charming partner and a _Miss_ Anna Lewis.

"I've been wondering that myself. Maybe he was interrupted before he could finish?" Hutch ran his hand over his smooth chin as he thought about the horrors Anna had been forced to endure. _God, I hope we can find that bastard._

"This is the place." Starsky pulled up next to the Captain's Ford.

Patrol cars and camera crews surrounded the corner lot as police barricades held back the small crowd of curious onlookers.

Hutch noticed the Medical Examiner bending over something and pointed him out to Starsky. But when they heard the familiar sound of the Captain shouting, they decided it would behoove them to report in first.

"…And keep the reporters away, damn it!"

"Hey, Cap. What'd ya find for us?" Starsky inquired, his bloodshot eyes tearing slightly against the cold wind whipping around the lot.

"About an hour ago, the body of a woman was found by a man walking his dog. Warner thought it might be your guy and called me." The two detectives followed Dobey's pointing finger over to the far side of the empty lot and to the balding detective carefully collecting evidence off the ground.

"Any ID on the body?" Hutch's teeth began to chatter as icy rain continued to fall.

Dobey pulled his coat collar tighter. "Not that I know of. The M.E just got here and is going over the body. Why don't you two do your job and ask him?"

Starsky smiled at his blustering boss. "Aye, aye, Cap'n."

Before Dobey could respond, the two detectives trudged through the wet mud and clay, towards the medical examiner.

Abandoned in the muck was the nude body of a woman, lying face-up, dark hair covering her features and dried blood washing the ground around her. The ME and several officers stood around bagging evidence for the investigation.

Starsky took a shaky breath and winced against the pain in his lungs. Clearing his throat, he asked, "Can you tell us anything, Mike?"

"Not much. Don't have an ID on her yet, but I can tell you she's a 25-to-30-year-old Caucasian female, been dead about 12 hours, and this is the primary scene." Mike lifted her hand, looking for broken nails and defense wounds.

Starsky knelt next to the body and carefully removed the dark hair from over her face. A small hole was visible near her scalp, surrounded by powder burns.

Mike continued his analysis. "Looks like a possible rape. She has some skin under her nails and this one"—he held up her index finger—"has been broken down to the quick. Tells me our suspect will have some scratches on his body…"

Starsky interrupted. "She was shot," he stated.

"Yeah, looks like a small caliber gun shot to the head. Close range."

Starsky looked at Hutch. "This isn't our guy."

"How do you know that, Starsk? Her body has been mutilated like the others _and_ she was raped." Hutch looked surprised by Starsky's quick dismissal of the body.

"She was shot, Hutch. That's not his MO. And she obviously wasn't cleaned before being dumped here. If Mike is right, and this is the primary scene," Starsky looked around at some of evidence markers on the ground, "it means this ain't our guy."

Hutch nodded in understanding. "Yeah, okay. I knew I kept you around for some reason, partner." He smiled and hung his long arm over Starsky's wet shoulders. "Let's tell Dobey it's not our guy, huh?"

O0O

"What do you mean it's not your guy?" Dobey shouted, spraying droplets of rain from his lips.

"Just what we said, Cap. This looks more like a pimp taking his anger out on one of his girls than anything else. Anyone report her missing?" Hutch spoke while Starsky danced from foot to foot trying to warm up.

"I'll have Warner ask around. If she _is_ a prostitute, the girls around here should know. Now get that partner of yours home and dry. And try to get him to stop jumping around like a jackrabbit, for God's sake! Why don't you two ever carry umbrellas? Huh? Answer me that."

"Thanks, Cap." Hutch grabbed Starsky by the arm and began leading him away from the fading rant of their Captain.

O0O

They arrived at Starsky's apartment not long after midnight, both men wet, cold, and fatigued. As he closed the bathroom door, Starsky could hear Hutch foraging for food in his kitchen, and hoped, silently, for a bowl of hot soup.

Starsky switched on the bathroom light and rubbed his tired, burning eyes. A cough rumbled through his chest as he held onto the porcelain sides of the sink, trying to grab a full breath, fighting against the fluid he could now feel congesting his lungs. _Damn_, he thought as his breathing finally settled down some.

Drawing a shallow breath, he fumbled in his medicine cabinet and grabbed the bottle of cough syrup, taking a long swig. The coughing continued despite the medicine, and he gasped for breath against the fiery pain in his lungs.

Small black dots began to dance in front of his eyes until he thought he would pass out. He slid down to the floor holding his chest, and attempted to draw a refreshing breath. Finally, the syrup began to take hold and the rumbling in his lungs quieted to a soft gurgle. He took another drink of the foul syrup, and stood up, looking in the mirror. _You really look like crap, buddy_, he said to his haggard looking reflection.

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

The unmistakable din of dripping water reverberated through the bathroom. Starsky, still leaning on the sink, looked over his shoulder and toward the source of the noise.

_**PLOP **_

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

He listened closely and could almost swear there was more inside the noise.

**_PLOP_ **

Yes, more

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP** _

What was he hearing? He held his breath, listening.

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

There it was again, something within the noise was calling to him. He could hear it, almost. Perhaps if he got closer, just a little, he could make the words out.

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

**_PLOP_ **

Body aching with fatigue and fever, Starsky moved closer to the tub. Still, he couldn't quite make out what he was hearing.

_**PLOP**_

He reached toward the drawn curtain and pulled it back, the metal rings screeching along the rod.

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

The drops of water spilled into the full tub causing icy ripples to skate across its surface. Starsky reached a tentative hand into the water, dismayed at the frigid temperature, and felt for the drain plug.

_**PLOP**_

_**PLOP**_

The words were still there, but perhaps if he just pulled the plug…

_**PLOP**_

He grasp the metal ring of the plug with his middle finger and began to pull, but stopped when something dense brushed against his hand.

_**PLOP **_

He struggled to pull his hand away, but something soft and mucid grasped his fingers, then his hand, then his arm. Starsky stared into the blue water suddenly afraid; he saw what had a hold of him.

_**PLOP**_

A dark shadow slid through the water just below the surface. Eyes wide with horror, Starsky watched the mass as it climbed his arm, slowly encompassing it like wet tar. And with it, there was a smell. It was a musty and familiar odor, but also vile; the kind of smell that lingers after death. The kind of smell he remembered from the first murder investigation he covered; the smell of a corpse left rotting for days, maggots spilling off onto the floor, bodily fluids soaking the carpet.

_Oh, God, no._

The realization came to him too late. That noise, that smell, it was calling out to him, for him. It wanted him. Frantically, he began to pull away using all his remaining strength. But the shadow was too strong, and now it began to take form. A sallow, distended body with lank ebony hair rose from the glacial liquid. The lifeless eyes looked at him menacingly as the hand burrowed into the flesh on his arm. The body rose up and another bloated hand pulled at his shirt, bringing him closer to the water's edge.

The thought of screaming for Hutch passed desperately through his mind, but when he inhaled to call out, his face was already under water. The name came out silently as pockets of air breaking the surface.

Starsky held the last of his breath as long as humanly possible, fighting against the deadly urge to inhale again. Water pushed against his closed mouth and permeated his nostrils. With no oxygen left, he hopelessly mouthed the name of his partner…"_Hutch_." A fog began to form over his sight, but still he struggled to hold on. The pain in his chest became almost unbearable as his lungs demanded air.

He felt the hands, _hundreds of them,_ pulling him into the darkness as he drew in the colorless liquid. One gulp, two; then darkness, nothing more.

O0O

Hutch busily set about in the kitchen, searching through mostly bare cupboards for the makings of a meal. The fridge was equally empty and none of Starsky's usual dishes were in the drying rack. Shaking his head, Hutch knew his partner hadn't been eating. Grabbing two cans of vegetable soup from the cupboard, he began heating the contents.

Digging through the refrigerator, Hutch found a small chunk of cheddar and a half-loaf of bread for toasted cheese sandwiches, and one apple for slicing. He knew Starsky was still feeling bad, but hoped he would at least eat some of the warm meal being prepared.

Reaching for two glasses in the cupboard, his eyes fell upon a disturbing sight. He let out a loud breath against the anger he felt rising. In the cupboard was Starsky's mostly-full bottle of antibiotics.

"Jesus, Starsky. What is wrong with you?" Hutch angrily set the bottle on the table, and drummed his fingers next to it. _This is truly the stupidest thing you've ever done, buddy. We are going to have a long talk about this._

Hearing Starsky enter the kitchen, Hutch decided this was as good a time as any to lay into his bone-headed partner.

"Starsky, what's the idea of this?" He turned to show his partner the full bottle of medicine, but was instead surprised to find he was alone. The sound of a chair moving in the other room startled him out of his bewilderment, and he passed through the kitchen door into the living room expecting to find Starsky lounging on the couch.

Nothing.

"Starsk?"

From the corner of his eye, he saw movement near the bedroom door and turned to confront it.

Again, nothing.

Hutch continued to stare at the closed door, a feeling of anxiety washing over him. He pulled his eyes away from Starsky's room, and glanced around the dim apartment fighting the creeping chill.

On instinct, Hutch walked to the front door and locked it, embarrassed for feeling so jumpy. When he turned backed, he glanced at the open bedroom door.

He wasn't positive, but he was pretty damn sure the door had been closed. Light was still pouring out from the bottom of the closed bathroom door, so Hutch knew Starsky was still in there, and he hadn't heard either door open. Hutch took a cautious step forward and stopped. The faint scent of roses was drifting through the air, and a soft voice was calling him. But whose? No one was here but him and Starsky.

Then the scratching started. Softly at first, but then it grew. The sound of long nails digging at the bathroom door. Digging and scratching. Trying to get out.

"Oh shit, Starsky!" Hutch rushed toward the door and pushed it open carefully—gasping with mingled relief and panic as he saw Starsky lying on the floor inside.

Taking long strides, he quickly reached the unconscious form on the cold tile, tossing the pill bottle in his hand aside and feeling hurriedly for Starsky's wrist. He felt a pulse weakly beating against his fingers. He could also faintly hear a rasping sound in the detective's chest. Hutch rose to call for help, when a small whisper caught his attention.

"Starsk?" Hutch knelt and looked at the slightly-opened eyes of his friend.

"Behind you…"

"What? What's behind me, buddy?" Fighting the need to look, Hutch instead brushed his hand over Starsky's forehead, feeling the heat radiating off him.

Starsky gasped for air between his words. "_She_… is."

He began to cough again, frightening Hutch with the noise he could hear rattling in Starsky's lungs. Starsky continued to stare, but Hutch realized it wasn't at him: Starsky was looking past him, over his shoulder.

Hutch then felt a cold dampness on his arm, a pressure, almost as if a hand were resting there. Feeling foolish, but not able to fight the urge any longer, he turned to look.

Nothing was there that Hutch could see, but he felt something watching.

Not wanting to leave his friend vulnerable, but seeing little choice, Hutch looked back at the man on the floor. "Starsk, I need to make a call. I'm going to get you some help."

Hutch stood and turned toward the door, but froze. Something shifted. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the movement, and felt a chill race down his back. He shivered, involuntarily.

"Screw this!" Hutch moved back to Starsky and began gathering him awkwardly in his arms. "Let's get you out of here, buddy."

Starsky didn't notice being dropped into the LTD, or the blanket being placed gently over his body. He was somewhere else, dancing to the tunes of Tommy Dorsey in the arms of the beautiful woman in black.

To be continued….


	10. Chapter 10

Broken Doll-Chapter 10

Starsky woke to strange surroundings. His head felt weighted and the bright lights of the room spun in a dizzying pattern. He tried lifting a hand to his face, but something caught his wrist, shoving it back down. He struggled against the restraint setting off wave after wave of nausea and pain. Each and every muscle sparked with agony and his chest tightened until he felt like he could no longer breathe. Voices swirled loudly in his head, murmuring anxiously, shouting words he didn't understand. He tried to speak, but his lips were thick and wouldn't move. Then he felt something pressed over his mouth and he was positive he would suffocate. But instead he pulled in a lungful of oxygen and the numbness in his lips began to fade. He pulled in another mouthful of intoxicating air, and the panic dissipated. Starsky felt himself drifting off to sleep and welcomed the peace.

O0O

Hutch sat on the lumpy worn out waiting room couch listening to the doctor, but not liking what he was hearing.

"How long has been sick?"

"A couple of weeks now. He was given antibiotics for some kind of strep infection."

"Has he been taking them?"

Hutch felt an irrational anger begin to rise, at the doctor for grilling him, at Starsky for not taking his medicine, at himself for not taking better care of his friend. He rubbed his hand down his face …"No. I found a mostly full bottle tonight."

The doctor nodded in understanding. "I see. Your partner, I'm afraid to say, has Pneumococcal pneumonia."

Hutch looked at the doctor with concern in his eyes, his stomach sinking at the news.

"It's not common in people of his age," the doctor continued, "but with the infection he was fighting, and the exhaustion he is suffering, not to mention the dehydration—well, it was just a matter of time, really."

"Is he going to be okay? I mean, can I see him?" Hutch was almost frantic with worry.

The doctor placed a hand on the blond's shoulder to calm him. "His temperature is dangerously high and, because of the dehydration, we had a hard time getting his lines in, but we did. We have him on oxygen to help him breathe, and different antibiotics to fight the infection. Now, we just wait and see."

"When can I see him, doc?"

"The nurses are getting him settled in ICU right now. He will probably sleep for several hours or more. If you promise not to wake him, I'll have the nurse get you a pillow and blanket." The doctor then looked into the detective's eyes. "He's a big boy, detective. You aren't responsible for his lack of judgment." The doctor turned and walked away, leaving Hutch to ponder her words.

O0O

A sudden clash of thunder came from the west, causing Hutch to shift slightly in his chair. Swirls of dark colors had been filling his mind as he entered the deep part of sleep. Suddenly, something brushed past his leg, startling him awake. Another clash of thunder filled his ears as a shock of light from the storm illuminated the darkened hospital room, revealing the pale body of his partner.

Rubbing his eyes, Hutch felt an anxious hum begin in his spine and slowly work its way up his back, finally raising the hair on his head, much in the way a cat's hair spikes when it arches its back in fear. The shiver that followed was body wide. He rubbed his ankle against the chilling moistness that clung like a second skin, then stood searching for what had caressed his leg. A shadow slithered on the far side of the room as another flash of lightning lit the sky.

Slowly, he moved toward the foot of the bed, unsure of what he might find. Just enough light shone from the medical equipment to cast a dull, unhealthy glow on the room as he moved beside his sleeping partner. Droplets of perspiration glistened in the faint illumination of the machines monitoring Starsky's life, and tubes ran along the crisp white sheets pulled tightly over his body. He then noticed a slight trembling in his partner's legs and knew what had woken him.

Hutch brushed his partner's wet hair off his forehead and whispered, "It's going to be okay, I'm here, buddy." Starsky moaned and opened his eyes just enough for Hutch to see the fear that had taken over his friend's life. Within moments, Starsky's body began to shift with hard jerky movements, his eyes shutting tightly. He began shaking so hard the bed was making horrible clattering sounds and, then, one by one, alarms began to ring. Hutch watched in horror as Starsky pushed his head back into his pillow, clenching his jaw tightly and then cried out as he lurched to the left. Hutch stepped up to the edge of the bed in an attempt to keep Starsky from falling off.

Bodies began to surround Hutch and he was gently pushed out of the way, a nurse grabbing Starsky just as he began to slide over the edge. Other hands joined to hold him in place as he began to gag and then vomit.

"Get him out of here," Hutch heard as a pair of hands led him to the door and out into the hallway. He stood there in shock, starring at the closed door, listening to the sounds of alarms blaring. Moments later, the door opened again and a nurse brushed past him. Before the door could shut, Hutch heard shouting. "…pressure and heart rate are too…"

"Ken?"

Startled, Hutch turned toward the voice. Anna Lewis stood in front of him dressed in white, her long dark hair pulled into a loose bun covered by a pointed nursing cap.

"Anna, w-what are you doing here?" Hutch blinked in confusion.

Anna took him by the hand, pulling him to the side, as a nurse and several orderlies passed from the hall into the room, carrying large bags of ice.

"I work in pediatrics, upstairs," she replied as she brushed a black strand of hair under her white cap. "I called to talk to Dave, and your captain said he was here. I hope you don't mind, I just came to check on the two of you. Is he in there?" She nodded her head toward room 102.

Hutch followed her eyes as she looked toward the closed door. "Something…something's wrong. He..he…." A deep pain shown in his eyes and he felt it burn his stomach.

"I'll be back in a minute." Anna squeezed his hand and entered the room amid the orderly chaos of activity. Hutch paced for several uncomfortable minutes until he heard the snick of the door and saw Anna returning. He looked to her expectantly.

Anna smiled. "Let's get some coffee." Hutch followed her down the hall and into the large cafeteria where they sat with steaming cups. Hutch took a sip feeling the liquid burn his lips, and realized, unfortunately, he wasn't dreaming.

"He's going to be fine, Ken." Hutch looked at Anna with watery blue eyes. "His temperature was too high and that caused convulsions. I know it's frightening to see, but it's not unusual for a body to react like that, especially with how sick Dave is."

"But his heart, I head the doctor say…"

Anna took his hand firmly in hers and stared into his eyes. "Convulsions often cause heart rate and blood pressure to rise. He also vomited, but all of that is _normal_ for what happened to him. Doctor Bird knows what she is doing, Ken. She is one of the best doctors here. Dave is lucky to have her watching over him. He's lucky to have you, too."

Hutch ran his fingers through his shaggy blond hair and let out a deep sigh, only now realizing how tense he'd been. But having Anna here somehow helped ease his worry and brought a measure of comfort. At least, he wasn't alone.

"You look tired. How long has it been since you've had any sleep?"

Hutch smiled at her concern, remembering all the times Starsky had said the exact same words to him. "It's been a while," he admitted.

"Listen, Ken," she sipped at her coffee before continuing. "Once you see that he's doing fine, why don't you go home and get some rest. You could use it."

Hutch knew he looked like crap, he felt like it, too, but he wasn't sure leaving Starsky alone was a good idea. He'd left him alone too much lately …

Before he could say anything, Anna spoke up. "He's not going to be alone, I'll stay with him. And besides, Ken, how are you going to be there for him if you can't even think straight?"

Hutch looked down at his coffee and realized he'd been absently adding packets of sugar to his coffee and blushed. "Maybe you're right, I could use some sleep. I guess it's just that, well, I need to talk to him. I need to know he's alright."

Anna smiled in understanding. They sat in silence for several minutes, each lost in thought.

"I thought I might find you here." Doctor Bird pulled a chair out and sat, sighing as she did. Hutch looked expectantly at her.

"He's going to be fine, detective. His temperature was 106, but we managed to lower it. Ice isn't the most comfortable treatment, but it's effective." She smiled.

"What about the rest, all the alarms?"

The doctor placed an aging hand on his shoulder before she answered. "I'm not going to lie to you, detective. He scared us for a few minutes. But to be honest, I think he's over the worst of it. His lungs are clearing and he was starting to come around as I left." Hutch's eyes widened at the news. "He may be slightly confused for awhile, but that's normal after a seizure. Why don't you go see him, huh?"

"Excuse me." Hutch quickly rose from his chair, leaving Anna and the doctor behind.

O0O

The anxious blond quietly opened the door to room 102 and approached the bed his partner was lying in. The lights were still low, but he could see that Starsky's color was

much better and the sheen of fever was gone. He pulled a chair close to the head of the bed and took one of Starsky's hands in his.

"Starsky? Buddy? Can you hear me?" Starsky's eyes fluttered, but did not open. "Hey, partner, can you wake up for me?"

Hutch felt a slight pressure on his hand that grew as the weakened man pressed back.

"Okay, don't try to talk. Just listen, alright?" Another squeeze to his hand let him know Starsky was listening. "The doc said you're going to be fine. They had to ice you down, buddy. Seems you got too hot." Another squeeze. "Yeah, I know, that's what all the nurses say." Hutch smiled.

"Listen, Starsk." Hutch, growing serious, now held his best friend's hand in both of his. "I'm sorry I ever doubted you. I…I don't know what you've been…experiencing, but I should have listened to you. Maybe if I had…well, maybe you wouldn't be here right now." Hutch felt his eyes burning and looked down.

"Not… your fault…Blintz."Starsky gasped out in a weak voice, but Hutch could see the slight smile that graced his friend's face and smiled back.

"We'll get to the bottom of this, Starsk. I promise. Whatever's going on, we'll solve it. Now, get some rest. You look awful." He chuckled and held Starsky's hand until it went lax, then sat quietly in the chair, watching his partner sleep, until he, too, drifted off.

O0O

It was still dark when Hutch heard Anna enter the room, and sat up to greet her.

"How is he?" she asked, reading the chart at the foot of Starsky's bed.

Hutch stood to allow some circulation back into his legs. "He's been sleeping quietly and, at last check, his temperature was still down."

"It's almost morning. Why don't you go home and get some decent sleep. I'll stay with him till you get back."

"I don't know, Anna…"

"Go. Let a guy get some sleep, will ya?" Starsky pleaded from the bed.

"Yeah, okay, Gordo." Hutch acquiesced as he tucked the covers around his partner's legs. "You win. But I'd better not hear that you gave Anna a hard time."

Starsky snorted a reply and drifted quickly off to sleep once again.

Standing at the door, Hutch looked back at his sleeping partner. "I'll be back in a few hours. Thanks, Anna." _She really is a beautiful woman_, Hutch thought, _no wonder Starsky likes her._

A charming and radiant smile crossed Anna's full lips as she turned to sit next to the bed, pulling a book from her uniform pocket. "Get some rest." Hutch nodded and softly closed the door behind him, heading home.

O0O

Steam from the hot shower filled the bathroom in billowing white clouds. Hutch pressed his hands against the slick tile wall, supporting his weight as he let his head hang in front of the showerhead. Soothing water poured down his neck, loosening all the tense muscles, and he let out a tired sigh. Ten minutes later, the water began to run cold and he regretfully turned the knob to stop the flow.

He toweled off his slender body and pulled on sweats against the cold of the storm still blustering outside. Adjusting himself in bed, Hutch tiredly glanced at the clock, 7a.m., and set the alarm for noon. He let his head fall back against the pillow, his wet flaxen hair cold against his neck, and fell asleep.

_BRRRRING_

_BRRRRING_

Hutch hit the alarm with his limp arm and rolled over.

_BRRRRING_

_BRRRRING_

Hutch moaned and hit the clock again with a little more strength.

_BRRRRING_

"Jesus Chri…what the…"

_BRRRRING_

"Shit." He grabbed the receiver on his night stand, and mumbled an incoherent greeting into the phone.

"Hutchinson? Dobey. Get your butt down here right away. We have another body for you."

Instantly, Hutch became alert. After dressing, he was on his way out of the warm apartment as he looked at the clock -7:35 a.m., and sighed again.

To Be Continued


	11. Chapter 11

**Thank you all for being so patient while I was ill. As promised, two chapters are being added! And now back to our regularly scheduled program!**

**Broken Doll-Chapter 11**

The room felt cool when Starsky woke, and he shivered under the thin blanket covering his body. Pushing the nurse call button, he waited in the gray light that marked another stormy day. Minutes later, he pushed the button again as another shiver quaked through his body. Outside, the wind was picking up, blowing branches across the windowpane with a shrill racket.

Starsky pushed the button again, lightly cursing under his breath, and threw his legs over the side of the bed. He spotted a thin blue robe hanging in the open closet. Fighting vertigo, he stepped to the closet and shrugged into the robe, not really feeling the warmth he needed. Urging his wobbly legs forward, he opened the door to his room and looked out, hoping to spot a passing nurse. Nothing.

Curious, Starsky moved down the hall toward the nurse's station. But when he arrived, it was dark and empty.

He looked up and down the hall, pulling his robe tighter against the chill that was seeping into his flesh. Now, desperate to find a nurse, he headed toward the elevator and the admittance desk on the first floor.

The elevator opened and he stepped inside and pushed the button to the first floor. The elevator sprung to life with a lurch, and that's when Starsky heard raspy breathing behind him. Turning his head, he saw an old man standing hunched in the back corner, facing the wall. He couldn't see a face but thinning silver hair stood out starkly against the dark blue sweater the old man wore.

"Uh, are you all right, sir?" The man remained silent and still. Starsky felt the hair on his arms prickle as he pivoted back towards the doors.

The next floor came and went and Starsky thought he heard the old man shift. He looked over his shoulder, but the man in blue stood motionless in the corner.

Another floor and Starsky was sure the old man was standing behind him, for he felt the heavy, warm breath caressing his bare neck. He turned, expecting to be nose to nose with the man, but the old figure was still slouched in the corner, looking down.

The elevator seemed to be moving at an extremely slow pace, and the wait to exit was agonizing. Starsky pushed the first floor button again, with more pressure. The shifting of feet scraped against the floor and Starsky felt a tremor go down his back. He pushed the button several times more.

Normally, not afraid of even the worst criminal, Starsky was ready to claw his way out of the elevator to escape the old man. Claustrophobia was overtaking him as he felt the man move toward him.

The next floor came and went and Starsky had to turn around. Breathing deeply, he spun toward the back of the elevator. The old man was still in the corner, head down. But as Starsky watched, the aged body turned, ever so slowly. Starsky looked toward the feet and saw that they were not moving; the man's feet were skimming the brown carpet as he turned. Startled, Starsky backed against the smooth elevator doors and mentally urged them to open. The old man finished his rotation and now was fully faced forward.

"Christ," Starsky said in a low moan and felt his stomach drop; he knew that after one look, he wouldn't be eating for a long while.

The old man in the corner (except he was no longer neatly tucked back there) was the size of a young adult female, like those who never eat and are proud of how their bones show through too tight clothing. The wasted arms weren't reaching out, but instead hung limply at the old man's side. _Not that he won't try to reach out later_, Starsky thought morosely. Where the eyes should have been were two huge, cavernous, black holes; and what appeared to be a nose was sunken into the eyeless face allowing Starsky to view a boneless piece of cheese colored flesh dripping in the old man's sinuses. The toothless mouth was drawn back in an expression of agony, while the vile reek of decay drained from it. Starsky pushed himself as tightly against the doors as he could, but the old man hovered closer and closer, until he was so close Starsky could see the multitude of death loving bugs feasting inside the empty sockets.

With a _Ding _the doors opened and Starsky slowly backed up, not wanting to lose sight of the old man. Waiting for the doors to shut seemed to take forever, but they did, locking the abhorrence inside. Starsky held his chest with quaking fingers and took several calming breaths before looking down the corridor.

O0O

Hutch pulled his LTD next to the other patrol cars parked haphazardly in the slick street, and sat a moment getting his bearings before joining his captain. The rusty door squealed in protest as he pushed it open and climbed out into an ankle deep puddle. He looked up to the sky cursing the rain and squinted against the heavy drops of water as he pulled his collar around his neck, hoping to keep the damp from collecting there. Although it was early morning, the sky was gloomy with storm clouds and each officer on the scene held a MagLight while searching the ground for evidence. Hutch, in kind, pulled his heavy, metallic light from inside his coat and flicked it on. Nothing happened. Slapping it against his palm in irritation, the light flickered and stayed illuminated.

He picked his way through the thick, suctioning mud and tall wet grass as he made his way over to the captain.

"Hutchinson." Captain Dobey acknowledged his detective's arrival.

"What've you got, Cap?" the already soaked sergeant asked, shining his light towards the assistant medical examiner.

Dobey shifted his umbrella to his left hand and blew warming air onto his right clenched fist. "Dark haired female, approximately 26 years of age. A man walking his dog found her in this field about forty minutes ago."

To Hutch's questioning look, Dobey responded, "Seems this is where the dog does his business." Hutch looked down at his feet and then back at his captain, a look of disgust coloring his face.

"How was she killed, Cap?"

"Not sure yet, the ME just got here, but it looks just like the others, Hutch. It's bad. Come on, I'll take you over so you can have a look."

Hutch didn't want to have a look. He wanted to be asleep in his warm bed, not standing in the cold rain looking at the mangled corpse of another unlucky woman. But he knew he had no choice in the matter; this was his job after all.

Carefully avoiding the evidence markers, Hutch and his captain made their way to the examiner. Silent lightning prickled through the sky with a flash, lighting the area in an artificial glow.

"Hey, Gail, I thought you stayed in the lab these days." Hutch spoke, surprised but pleased to see the attractive woman.

The brown haired assistant looked up at Hutch with large golden brown eyes and smiled. "Mike's wife went into labor about three hours ago. I told him I'd pick up his slack." She winked and then knelt down to squat by the lower half of the nude body partially sunken in the mud.

"Lucky you." Hutch frowned. "Do you have anything?" Hutch moved his light over the legs of the corpse. They were spread eagle as the other bodies had been, and as he moved his light up, he saw that the body ended at the waist. He looked around with his eyes and spotted the upper body a few short feet away, covered by a plastic tarp.

"The rain has washed away a lot of the evidence, but I found this next to the lower extremities." Gail held up a red fingernail with her tweezers and placed it in a plastic baggie.

Hutch took the bag and held it up to his light. "Did she lose it in the struggle?"

The attractive brunette shook her head, sending droplets of water over her smooth cheeks. "No, from my initial exam of her hands, all the victim's nails are in tact. And, if she struggled, it wasn't much of one. I have to get her to the morgue to be sure, but if I were to make an educated guess, I'd say she was dead before she was strangled."

"Can I see the rest of her?"

"Sure, but we don't have an ID yet," she said with a soft shrug of her shoulders.

Hutch splashed through the standing water as he approached the upper half of the body. Dobey followed several paces behind, already having seen the sickening sight. Gail bent over and carefully pulled the tarp up so the detective could view the remains.

What he saw was so sickening, he had to fight to keep his last cup of coffee down. The upper body was mangled almost beyond recognition, and her color was a peculiar shade of pale blue that was ghostly in the dim morning light. Shockingly, her lips had been carved away revealing several broken and chipped teeth, and the edges of her mouth were slashed ear to ear in a mock smile. Hutch's stomach lurched, but he couldn't pull his eyes away. Slowly, his stare made its way up to her eyes.

"No." Hutch stepped back almost knocking his captain over.

O0O

Rounding the corner of the hall, Starsky was relieved to finally see a uniformed nurse standing in the corroder before him.

"Hey!" he called, reaching his arm out as if to touch her. But before he made contact, she turned and Starsky froze in his steps.

Long, graying bones reached out to him as plump strands of parchment colored flesh dripped from the gesticulating fingers. Raven colored hair slipped from the skull in clumps and fell to the floor in corpulent piles. It took a step toward him and he saw that a runny liquid was dripping from beneath its skirt, pooling on the white tile.

_Help me, _it hissed, and moved closer.

Starsky was calm. Startled, but calm. He thought: _This is it. I'm dead. It's ending here and now and I'm alone._ He never thought of turning and running away or calling for help. The thought never even entered his mind.

In fact, what he wanted was to move closer to the miscreation, to touch it. It _called_ him, as if in a dream, and he felt the curious tug.

_Help me._

Stepping forward, Starsky felt something gelid beneath his bare feet. Looking down, he was taken aback by the glutinous black fluid now pouring from the cadaver and inching up his leg. He tried lifting his feet, but the substance clung to him in long strings, sealing him to the floor.

He pivoted, his fascination turning into terror, and fell to his hands with a painful slap. It moved with a bizarre gurgling sound emanating from its throat.

"What the _fuck_ do you want?" he spat out while grappling at the floor with his fingers.

_Help me _

He attempted to claw away from the apparition, using the cracks in the floor as leverage, but blood from his broken nails made the linoleum too slick to grab as the tar like mass inched up his legs to his torso. The specter approached close enough for Starsky to see its pallid, waxy complexion and hear the hiss of its breath as it whispered into his ear, "_Help me_._"_

The grey hand that closed around his neck was no surprise, but he gagged at the feel of the dangling tissue as it slipped against his skin leaving behind an oozing trail of liquid adipose. The grip tightened and he closed his eyes.

_David?_

_David? Can you hear me?_

_Open your eyes, David._

A familiar voice called him, and he struggled to open his eyes.

_You're having a dream, David. You need to wake up now._

Was it really just a dream? It had felt so real, but was it? Would he open his eyes to the voice he heard now, or would he open them to…his whole body shivered. A warm hand tenderly caressed his cheek and he felt the warmth flow through his body.

Blinking several times in an attempt to peel his lids open, Starsky finally managed to keep them partially aloft. What, or rather who, he saw stroking his face brought a pleased smile to his mouth.

"Anna?" his voice sounded raw to his ears. She held a straw up to his lips and he took a cool sip, feeling the water trickle down his parched throat. He closed his eyes and soaked in the pleasant sensation.

Anna then reached over to his bed side table and wrung out a wet cloth, lightly running it over his face. "You were having a bad dream, David, so I thought I should wake you. Are you alright?"

"Thanks. It was… pretty bad." Although he only just met this young woman, Starsky was gratified that she was here with him. He couldn't put his finger on the emotion, exactly, but she seemed to bring him a small amount of peacefulness he hadn't felt in a very long time.

She smiled, her intense sapphire eyes blazing. "Go to sleep, Dave. I'll stay here with you. Promise."

The last thing he wanted to do now was go back to sleep, the nightmare still fresh in his memory, but fatigue tugged at him and he felt his lids growing heavy. Sleep claimed him, but this time he was tranquil.

O0O

"Hutch, are you alright?" Dobey asked. It was a necessary question. All the color had drained out of the young detective's face and he bent over clutching his shins and breathing hard.

"I just…we just…oh, God, Cap." Hutch spat the sour taste from his mouth.

"Hutchinson, talk to me." Dobey placed a concerned hand on the blond's back.

Hutch spat again and took a needed deep breath. The rain had let up to a drizzle, but he still felt a chill griping his body. After another breath, he stood and faced his boss.

"Christ, Captain, it's…fuck…it's Anna Lewis. I just saw…we just interviewed her. I should have known she wouldn't be safe. I should have-"

"That's enough! There was no way you could have known that maniac was going to do this any more than you can read his mind. Jesus, Hutch. You can't blame yourself for every victim we have to identify."

Running a hand through his lanky, wet hair, Hutch nodded. "I need to tell Starsky."

"After you finish here." The large black man turned back to the ME. "Any idea on the time of death?"

Hutch had forgotten Gail was standing there, and realized that he really wanted an answer to that question, too.

Gail pulled the tarp back over the upper body to preserve any remaining evidence and moved to do the same with the lower half. "Well, from the bug activity, I'd estimate about 8 hours." She glanced at her watch. "That would make it-"

"Midnight. Cap, that was just a few hours after we left her place." Hutch couldn't hide the guilt he was feeling.

A morgue attendant sidled up next to the trio. "You want me to remove the body now?"

"No," Hutch said. "You should just leave her there in the rain until all the fucking evidence gets washed away."

"Hutchinson!" Dobey gave Hutch a warning glare, causing the detective to look away in frustration.

"Go ahead and move her, Jeff. I can't do anything for her here." Gail became quiet a moment before she looked at Hutch. "Want me to call you when I know more?"

"Yeah," he said, resigned. "Call me at Memorial; I'll be there with Starsky."

Gail's eyes grew soft at the mention of his partner. "How is he doing, Hutch? I heard he's pretty sick."

"Yeah, he is, but the doctor says he's going to be fine. He just needs to rest and let the medicine do its job." At least, Hutch hoped he would be fine. He only left the hospital because Anna said she would watch him, and, now…well, now Starsky was alone and Hutch was feeling responsible.

He thought back to his meeting with Anna outside his partner's room: _I was tired. No, I was…am exhausted. Did I really see her or did I just see what I needed to see at the moment, _Hutch thought_. I should have at least told cap. Shit, no one would believe it, except Starsky. But share it with someone other than him? Someone who doesn't know what it's like working all hours of the day and night and dealing with low- life's, 24/7. No. It's best that only the two of us know that I…we…**I **was seeing things. I was seeing things. I was exhausted and I was seeing things._

"Hutchinson!" The burly captain of detectives startled Hutch from his thoughts. "Don't you have work to do?"

Taking his note book from his back pocket, Hutch flipped it open and moved off to interview the dog walker_I was seeing things_, he told himself one final time before addressing the man with the poodle.

**To be Continued**


	12. Chapter 12

Broken Doll-Chapter 12

Hutch took a swig of coffee without even tasting it. What had he learned so far? He knew the victims had all been in their early to mid 20's, tall and slender, brunette, Caucasian, and once worked in hospitals in various occupations…that he learned an hour earlier when Dobey called with the news. But, what else? Who was the tall woman seen at the Mallone murder site?

A low moan came from Starsky, signaling his return to consciousness. Hutch looked up from his seated position and suddenly realized that he'd been leaning stiffly forward in complete concentration for the past thirty minutes. He stood up stiffly and finished the last of his coffee, then moved over to the bedside.

"Hey. You waking up?" He saw his partner's lips curl into a smile. "It's about time you joined me. I'm tired of solving all our cases alone. It's time you pulled your own weight, buddy." Hutch chuckled, pleased to see Starsky looking more alert.

"The criminals are probably going wild on the street without me there to back you up," the scratchy voice joked.

Hutch helped him sit up and poured a glass of water. "In your dreams, Starsk. Here drink this." Starsky took a long sip and handed the glass back to the waiting hand.

"How long have I been here?" Starsky leaned back to rest his head on the foam pillow.

"Three days now. Doctor Ness said she could remove your lines once you have some, what did she call it…output."

"All I have to do is pee?" His eye brows rose as he thought about how uncomfortable the catheter was and how nice it would be to have it removed.

"Well, that's not exactly how she said it, but, yeah, that's all you have to do."

"Hand me the water, Hutch." Starsky sat and reached for the glass. "Where'd Anna go?"

Hutch felt his hand begin to shake and pulled it back before Starsky noticed. He didn't know why he reacted so strongly each time he thought about her death. After all, he'd seen death before, seen how it laid waste to the survivors. _But not like this_, he thought, _not so violently…so goddamned savagely. _

"You look like you've seen a ghost." Starsky looked at his friend's hands and wan complexion. "Seriously, what's going on, Hutch?"

"Starsky," Hutch's voice became weak and he drew a shaky breath before continuing, "Anna was found dead this morning at 7:15."

Starsky didn't answer; he just sat in his bed and stared blankly at Hutch. Unsure of what the look meant and growing increasingly uncomfortable by the silence, Hutch pulled out his note book and flipped it open. "She, uh, she was found by a guy…a Mister Miles Mineas… while he was out walking his dog. And-"

"How did she die, Hutch?" The lack of emotion in the question took Hutch by surprise.

"Starsk, are you sure you want…"

"HOW DID SHE DIE?"

Hutch didn't know whether to be relieved at the anger pouring from his friend (after all, it was better than the blank stare), or frightened. "Just like the others," he replied, quietly.

"What did hedo?" The rage rolled off Starsky's tongue and his eyes flashed in a way Hutch rarely saw. There was a reason he rarely saw it, and he was thankful for that; it meant that his partner was about to go over the edge. He'd only seen it happen twice since they'd been partners and the last incident was over 2 years ago.

It had taken Hutch months to get the image of the beaten child out of his dreams; lying close to death on the floor of her step father's house. The case had been a heart breaker: the girl's mother had gone from bad relationship to worse relationship until she finally met Jack. She believed she had married the perfect man, but instead she got hooked on heroin and pimped out by her loving husband. The little girl, Julie was her name (Hutch would never forget that), was a casualty of her mother's bad choices. At the no longer so innocent age of 8, she was almost beaten to death by good 'ol Jack in order to punish her mother for being too high to service his clientele.

When Starsky saw the little girl unconscious and bleeding on the floor, and heard the mother's agonized cries, he got a look on his face similar to the rage Hutch saw displayed now. But, on that day, when his eyes became almost black and his mouth pursed so tight his lips were white, Starsky set out to hunt down the 'mother fucking bastard' who hurt the little girl. Hutch went along, not sure if it was to protect his partner or the step- father. Lucky for the father he did though, because when they did eventually find their suspect, in a smoky dive frequented by pushers and buyers, Starsky would have beat him to death if Hutch hadn't been there to pull them apart. Jack came away with 2 fewer teeth, and Starsky came away with bruised knuckles, and it was written up on the report as 'resisting arrest,' which wasn't exactly a lie. After all, the fat bastard did try to run, he just wasn't fast enough.

Starsky had the same _hunting_ look now. "Starsk, I…"

"Damnit, Hutch." The anger built as Starsky pounded his fist on his leg. "Just tell me what he fucking _did_ to her."

"He slashed her face, Starsky. He _fucking_ cut her lips off. Is that what you want to hear?" Hutch moved closer to the bed and towered angrily over it. "He cut her in half, but not before sodomizing her. He carved her up, pal. I can show you pictures if you want. Is THAT what you want? Is it? You want to remember Anna like that? Huh? Because I don't, I want to forget I _ever_ saw her like that. I want to forget I ever saw _any_ of them like that. I want to forget this whole goddamned case! " Hutch turned his back and used his thumbs to massage his temples; a migraine was building.

When he again turned around to face his partner, he instantly regretted his vehement outburst; Starsky was lying against his pillow with the heels of his hands pushed firmly against his eyes.

"God, I'm sorry, Hutch." Starsky's hands fell to the bed and Hutch saw that his eyes were red and watery from attempting not to cry. "I didn't mean to…I just thought if maybe I was…"

Hutch placed an empathetic hand on Starsky's neck, slowly massaging the tense muscles. "We need to catch the maggot who's doing this. And, we will, Starsk, I promise."

"We need to stop him… before…" Starsky coughed, trying to clear the congestion still wheezing in his lungs. "…he finds another." He exhaled before hacking a few more times, leading Hutch to sit him forward.

"_Thanks_." he whispered, gasping for breath before another round of coughing deprived him of air.

"Starsky?" Hutch was becoming increasingly concerned by the loud gasping. He looked to the bed stand for a glass of water, but instead, pushed the call button when he noticed Starsky's lips turning blue and the panicked expression in his wide eyes. "Starsky!" Hutch shouted. _God, not again_, he thought as nurses rushed in, pushing him aside.

Instantly, Starsky was leaned forward, and as one nurse slapped his back, another strapped on an oxygen mask, and a third went to fetch the doctor. Starsky's whole face had a blue tinge to it as Doctor Ness arrived and calmly took his wrist in her smooth hand.

"David. Listen to me. You need to slow your breathing down so the oxygen will work. Relax, David." She put her hand on the back of his neck and leaned him into a reclined position. "Now, David, I need you to listen to me. Your lungs still need to rest, so I can't have you getting excited. I'm having the nurse give you something to help you relax and sleep." Ness nodded to the nurse who then inserted a clear solution into his IV.

Hutch could see Starsky's eye lids grow heavy as the drug took hold and he fell into a relaxed sleep.

"What happened here?" Hutch was startled out of his thoughts when he realized that the doctor was addressing him.

"What?"

"I said, Detective, what happened here. Your friend was hyperventilating. Something set it off."

Guiltily, Hutch looked down at his feet. "I blew it, Doc. I told him about Anna."

The displeasure momentarily disappeared from her voice as she pushed back a silver strand of hair that had fallen from her long braid. "Yes, that was, well…we are all still recovering from that shock. But nonetheless," her ire returned as quickly as it had vanished, "this was not the time to inform him of that. Honestly, what were you thinking, Ken?"

"Well, I thought I was-"

Doctor Ness put up a scolding hand. "You _weren't_ thinking. His lungs are still weak and ANY excitement can set off a coughing fit, you saw that. He needs time to rest and heal; he doesn't need you coming in here bringing bad news. Go home, Ken."

"Now, wait a minute…" Taken off guard by the order, he stopped pointing his index finger in defense and instead stuttered a question. "W..What?"

"You need to leave, Ken. Go home and sleep, go to the station, go anywhere you want, but do not stay here."

"But..."

He felt the blood rushing to his face, just like when his mother was lecturing him. "No buts. Go home and don't come back for 8 hours. I'm going to inform the nurses on this floor that you are not to set foot in his room until tomorrow afternoon. Now, go."

Hutch didn't have the energy to argue with this tiny woman who rivaled Dobey in pugnaciousness, so he simply walked away. "I'll be calling to check on my partner," he admonished over his shoulder.

O0O

Half an hour later, Hutch sat in The Pits, staring at the hamburger and fries Huggy had set before him. He took a swig of his beer and went back to poking at the cold fries on his plate as Huggy showed the last of his patrons out and locked the door. The lean business man then tossed a white dish towel over his shoulder and relaxed in a chair next to Hutch with a tired sigh.

"Long day, Hug?" Hutch asked, still contemplating his fries.

Huggy stood up and retrieved his own beer before returning to the table. "Marla up and quit on me today. Seems the girl found the man'o her dreams and ran off to get married. All I got was a phone call, not even an invite. Now, that's gratitude for you."

"Yeah…too bad."

"What's with you tonight, Blondie?" Huggy pried. "You look like somebody stole your best friend…Starsky's alright, right?" Panic momentarily coursed through his body.

Hutch took another swallow then answered, "He's fine."

"They kicked you outta there, didn't they?"

That comment got a small chuckle from the blond. "You know me too well."

"Yeah, I do." Huggy stood to refill their mugs. "You were asking awhile ago if I knew anything about Billy Grippo."

Hutch stopped torturing his food and sat up straight, listening. "Yeah. What did you find out?"

"Well, it seems our friend likes to travel. After he sold his club for a large profit, he got into selling antique furniture and collectables. Now, he travels around the country buying and selling them. He started about twenty years ago and he's done well for himself. _Very well_." Huggy sat their drinks down, but continued to stand.

"He's rumored to have mob connections. Do you know anything about that?"

"That's just it, it's rumors. Nobody's been able to get anything on the dude. The guy is very private and the people closest to him say he's an honest business man. However, his enemies disappear rather quickly, never to reappear."

"What do you know about his private life, Hug?" The black man settled into his chair and leaned closer to Hutch.

"He likes his women: tall, well-built movie star types. Has a party almost every weekend where he and all his business associates luxuriate, medicate, and modulate. Seems some pretty off-color things go on in his love pad, too."

Hutch was beginning to get a picture of the man whose address book ended up in a dead woman's possession. "Off- colored how?"

"Wild sex orgies, my man. He can have any woman he wants and he likes to share. A few have ended up in the hospital after one of his shindigs. Seems he likes it rough, and the rougher, the better."

Hutch abruptly stood, tossing some money on the table to pay for his drinks and food. "Thanks, Huggy. I need to find those medical records, and then I'm going to pay a visit to our little deviant friend."

"You ain't talking about Starsky, are you?" Huggy shouted after him.

"Billy Grippo, Hug, Billy Grippo." He heard as Hutch let himself out the back door.

Huggy shook his head. "I was afraid a dat."

To Be Continued


	13. Chapter 13

Broken Doll-Chapter 13

The few hours of sleep Hutch grabbed at home only succeeded in making him feel his fatigue even more. Not that he really got any sleep; he tried to keep from worrying about his partner by thinking about the case, but that only made him worry about Starsky all the more. It was a vicious cycle that was only broken by the buzz of his alarm. And now, as he entered the garage elevator at Parker Center, he resisted the need to rest his eyes.

"Hold the elevator!" At the feminine shout, Hutch pushed his hand between the doors, stopping them just as they were closing.

A small woman in uniform stepped in, half shrouded behind a stack of small boxes and folders. "Thanks, Hutch," she said cheerfully.

"You're welcome, uh…" Hutch stammered for a name.

"Emma. I work in records." He could hear the slight disappointment in her voice at his lack of recognition and struggled to place her in his mind. "We met at the Pig Bowl last year when a group of us went out to the Pits to celebrate after the game."

Immediately, Hutch was able to place her; she was the cute blond in the picture at Mrs. Talbert's home! "Of course, I remember you, Emma. Emma Talbert, right?" He could kick himself for forgetting someone as cute as her. "I didn't recognize you with all the boxes."

Emma giggled in a light way and set her bundle down. "What floor?"

"Oh, uh…five." The blond felt a blush beginning to warm his ears as he realized he'd forgotten to start the elevator. Emma pushed the lit circles for the fifth floor, then smiled at Hutch. "Thanks. But don't you work on the third floor?"

"Usually, but I have some files I need to get to robbery. Hey, did Starsky get the file I left for him last week?"

"Which file was that?"

Emma lifted her boxes into her arms as the doors to the fifth floor opened. "The Elizabeth Mallone case." Hutch's stomach clenched. He grabbed Emma's arm before she could exit.

"Why…why did you do that? I mean, you didn't leave a note, anything." He didn't know if he should be angry or relieved at this discovery, but he did know that he needed more information.

The tiny blond officer gave him a bewildered look and took her arm back. Hutch, for his part, looked apologetic. "Because he seemed interested in it when we talked about the case at the Pits. I told him I'd drop it by when I had a chance to find the file. Did I do something wrong?"

"You're beautiful, you know that?" Hutch grabbed her in a bear hug that surrounded both her and her boxes, which she immediately dropped. Hutch was ecstatic, he remembered that night over a month ago (or at least parts of it); both he and Starsky were beat up and crumpled from the football game, then drank way too much at the celebratory party afterwards. Keeping with tradition, the handsome barkeep called a cab and sent them home to sober up. Yep, the night was a blur for Hutch, and he knew Starsky remembered even less (from the questions Hutch had to answer in the morning). But he still had a question for Emma.

"Was it you, then, who took the file to his apartment?"

Emma put her hands against her burning cheeks. "Yeah, when I came upstairs to talk to him about the file, I heard he'd gone home sick. So I thought I'd drop it off for him and see how he was doing, you know, see if he needed anything. I knocked, but no one answered. The door was unlocked so I let myself in. When I saw his bedroom door was closed, I decided to let him sleep, so I left. I heard he's in the hospital now. I'm really sorry, Hutch. I hope I didn't make things worse, you know, with the case and my asking him to work on it."

"He's going to be just fine, Emma, just fine." Hutch leaned down to kiss her lightly on the cheek and stepped back into the elevator letting the doors shut. He had some great news to give his partner.

O0O

Hutch sat in his usual hard plastic chair at the end of Starsky's bed watching him sleep. He'd successfully made it past the nursing station without being stopped and, guiltily, waited for his partner to wake up. An hour later, he was half way through an article on inspiring jack-o-lanterns in Better Homes and Gardens, when a voice behind him made him jump.

"I thought I told you to go home?" Dr. Ness stood with her hands on her ample hips.

Hutch quickly stood, dropping the magazine on the chair. It promptly slid off, landing partially open on the floor. Hutch bent over to replace it on the cold plastic seat, only to have it slide off again. He picked it up, and held it curled in his hand, embarrassed at being caught. "I thought I would check and see how he is. But he was sleeping, so I was just sitting here…uh…reading…" Boy, that sounded lame, Hutch thought.

Dr. Ness smiled graciously and patted his hand. "If you want to stay and watch him sleep, that's fine, Ken. But I gave David a tranquilizer; he won't be awake for another several hours."

Disappointed, Hutch walked over to Starsky and lightly squeezed his shoulder. "I have some great news for you, buddy. But it will have to wait till I get back. So don't go anywhere, okay?" He handed the magazine to the doctor and moved toward the open door. "There's someone I need to meet with. If he wakes up before I'm back, could you…"

"I'll tell him you'll be back. You know, Ken," she looked directly into his eyes, "you being here for David, that has really meant a lot to him. I think, no, I _know_ that it has also helped speed his recovery. You're a good friend."

"I haven't been such a good friend lately." He sighed as he left.

O0O

The office of Billy Grippo Antiquities Dealer was located in a pristine brick warehouse in the old part of Bay City. Back in the fifties and sixties, this part of town had been a haven for drug dealers, gangs, and other scum. The crime rate soared and no citizen in their right mind would set foot down there after dark. Hell, not even during the day, Hutch thought. But about eight years ago, the new city council decided to renovate the area by bringing in businesses and building condos for the rich. As Hutch looked around, he realized the plan worked. The streets were clean and trees lined the sidewalks. Benches and decorative silver garbage receptacles stood on each block surrounded by fall flowers. Specialty shops filled the store fronts and the café society walked the street. Shaking his head at the flaunted wealth, Hutch stepped out of the rain into the elaborate office of Billy Grippo.

A stunning secretary sat behind a huge mahogany desk, and greeted Hutch with a cordial smile. "How may I help you, sir?"

"I'm here to speak with Mr. Grippo."

"I'm sorry; Mr. Grippo is in a phone conference right now, Mr…"

Hutch was prepared for this. After all, when had they ever gotten in on their first attempt? He flipped his wallet open, flashing his badge at the red head. "Detective. Now, please tell your boss _Detective_ Hutchinson is here to speak with him about Elizabeth Mallone."

"But he…" She looked uncomfortable, but stopped talking when Hutch pointed a finger at her.

"Tell him I want to speak with him _now_."

The secretary rose from her chair and moved gracefully to the door behind her. With a small knock, she opened it a fraction. "Sir, a man who says he's a detective is here and wishes to speak with you."

"Tell him I am busy!" a voice shouted from inside the room shouted.

"I did, sir, but…"

"But I insisted on seeing you now." Hutch finished her sentence as he pushed the door completely open and inserted himself into the room.

"I will have to call you back, Henry." The man Hutch assumed was his target put the phone heavily into its cradle and frowned. He was a tall, slender man who appeared to be in his early sixties. He had delicate looking hands, Hutch noticed, and his eye brows were thin and peaked, giving him a stern look. "Bring us some coffee, please, Virginia."

The alluring red head left the room, closing the heavy door behind her.

Billy Grippo stood and offered his hand to the detective. "What brings you here today, Detective? Nothing wrong with my merchandise, I trust," he said in an affronted tone.

Hutch shook his hand and gestured for the older man to sit. "No, nothing like that, Mr. Grippo. I'm actually here about an old case that's recently been reopened." Billy raised his black eyebrows in question. "Does the name, Elizabeth Mallone, mean anything to you?"

If the man was guilty, he didn't show it as he answered. "Ah, yes. I will never forget Liz. She was a beautiful woman. Such a tragedy her death was." He spread his fingers out in front of his face and examined his manicured nails.

Hutch silently noted the lack of emotion. "Can you tell me how your address book ended up in her possession?"

"I wondered where that went."

"Are you telling me it just disappeared?"

Billy moved over to the bar and poured himself a scotch on the rocks. "May I offer you a drink, Detective?"

"Just answer my question." Hutch turned his gaze to the pictures hanging to the right of Billy. All were sepia toned, indicating they'd been taken long ago. Billy spoke.

"Yes, that _is_ what I am telling you, Officer."

"_Detective_. Do you have an explanation as to how it may have just _disappeared_?" This was going to be a long interview, Hutch feared.

Billy laughed and ran his fingers through his short silver hair in a nervous gesture. "I had a business relationship with the young lady. Everyone knew it. The police even interviewed me at the time. I had nothing to hide then and I have nothing to hide now." He shifted his hands in an open gesture. "Oh, good, just set the tray over there, will you?" He directed his secretary to the glass topped table and waited for her to set out the coffee before he finished. "She was an actress and I owned several theaters. It was just natural that we should spend time together."

Hutch rolled his eyes. "I bet. About the missing address book…"

"She would stay at my home on occasion and, after one such visit, I noticed it was missing." The lack of feeling in his voice and gestures was disquieting.

"Any reason you know of that she would take your address book? I mean, that seems kind of odd, doesn't it?"

Billy swallowed the last of his scotch. "On the contrary, I own a large house and have many visitors. Things go missing all the time. There is really nothing more I can tell you, _Officer_. I am afraid I am just a waste of your valuable time."

Hutch knew there was more to the story than he was being told, but now wasn't the time to force the issue. Really, he just came here to get a feel for the mafia boss. "Those pictures," Hutch gestured to the faded ones on the wall, "is that your family?"

"Yes." Hutch detected loathing in his voice. "This one on top is of my sister and me. The one below is of the two of us with my Mother and Father."

Moving closer, Hutch saw a close resemblance in the siblings. "Are you the same age?"

"Yes, we are twins."

"Oh?"

Billy turned his back on the picture and returned to his desk. Sitting, he exhaled in ennui and answered. "She was a nurse during the war. It is World War II I am speaking of, of course. Anyway, I digress. She returned and went to work for the VA. She travels all around the county now, setting up rehabilitation rooms for our veterans. I don't see her as often as I would like, sadly." Hutch found that last statement hard to swallow.

"And the rest of your family?" Hutch couldn't put his finger on it, but something was here, he could feel it niggling at the back of his mind.

"My parents both died long ago, Detective. Now, I have work to do. If you will excuse me." Billy picked up the phone. "Virginia, will you get Mr. Worth on the line for me?"

The interview was over and Hutch left feeling as if he had missed something big.

O0O

"I tell you, Starsk, the guy is creepy." Hutch was filling his partner in as they both hungrily ate the dripping cheeseburgers compliments of Huggy Bear.

Starsky stuffed an extra large bite of sandwich into his mouth and chewed slowly, savoring every delectable bite. His stomach hadn't encountered solid food for a long time, and he was going to savor every luscious moment.

"Man, you are eating like you never seen food before." Huggy curled his lip at the juice dripping down Starsky's chin and shoved a napkin at him. "Were you raised in the jungle? Wipe your face, Tarzan?"

Starsky rolled his eyes then sunk his teeth into an equally large and greasy bite, sauce dribbling down his chin onto the napkin now tucked into his gown collar. The glow on his face was of pure ecstasy.

"The guy's taller than me, Starsk. And I had my boots on." Meaning, he was wearing cowboy boots that added about an inch to his own six foot height.

Starsky joyfully devoured his last bite before focusing on the subject. "What else did you find out?"

"He wasn't exactly forth coming. He did say he has a twin sister who apparently travels a lot. You know, there were two pictures of his family hanging in his office, and in both of them, no one was smiling. It was actually kinda creepy, like something outta one of those novels you read."

"How would you know, Blintz? I don't remember ever seeing you read one a dem?" Starsky wiped his crimson lips and tossed the crumpled napkin toward the trash can, missing.

Hutch jumped up to retrieve it and tossed it into the metal container. "It's not like you haven't related every gory detail to me during our painfully long stakeouts." Hutch looked perturbed, but Starsky knew it was all just for show. Secretly, he thought his partner enjoyed hearing the stories of ghostly horrors, but would never let him know that he knew. Starsky smiled.

"Least he tells you about 'em when you ain't got nothing better to do. Last month, your boy pinned me down in the middle of dinner rush and told me all about dis unfortunate girl getting swine entrails poured all on top of her. Three tables in the vicinity overheard and walked out. Shoulda charged you, going all on about that nasty book you was reading."

Starsky rolled his eyes at Huggy's tirade and Hutch smiled at the joke.

"Hey, Hutch," Starsky asked, bringing them to the subject at hand. "Did Grippo say what his sister did for a living?"

"She's a nurse."

At that precise moment, things clicked smoothly into place for Starsky. And, from his partner's expression, Hutch had caught on, too.

"She's a _nurse,_" they said together.

Huggy sat up straighter in his chair. "Am I missing the punchline?"

The clang of the bedside phone stopped Hutch from explaining the revelation to Huggy.

"Hutchinson," he answered and turned to Starsky mouthing 'Gail,' to indicate the ME was on the phone with him. "Yeah, he's doing much better. In fact, he just finished a Huggy Special." Hutch laughed and Starsky frowned, knowing it was a joke at his expense. Hutch put a reassuring hand on his partner's neck and winked. "So, what'd you find?"

He was silent for a long while, listening to Gail about the evidence she had extracted from the body. Starsky signaled to Hutch to share the phone, anxious to be part of the action, but Hutch ignored the wild gesticulations; focused instead on the information he was learning. "Anything more? Thanks, Gail, I owe you one. Okay, I'll tell him." Hutch hung up and stood silently pondering for a moment.

"You gonna tell us what she said, or do I have to beat it outta you, Blondie?" Starsky anxiously fidgeted his toes in bed, like a preschooler waiting for a surprise.

"The fingernail she found was a Lee Press-On Nail, the kind you can find at any drug store. It has a print on it she's running now. There was also a long brown hair _not_ belonging to the vic…uh…Anna…"

Starsky saw the worried glance Hutch gave him and offered a nod of his head. "Sokay, Hutch. Go on with what you were saying."

"The hair was found wrapped around Anna's fingers. It appears to have been pulled out, but when Gail put it under the microscope, it was an old follicle."

"Can hair get old?" Huggy asked.

Hutch sat at the edge of the bed, picking at the blanket nubs. "Witnesses saw a woman at the Mallone site. Now, we have a fake nail, a long strand of hair…"

"It's a woman, Hutch. Our killer is a woman." The astonishment passed between both sets of blue eyes.

To Be Continued


	14. Chapter 15

Thank you all for your patience, I think I mostly have my computer problems under control, and have started rewriting the chapters I lost. I now return you to our regularly scheduled program…..

Broken Doll- Chapter 14

**October 29th, 1977**

Sitting on the stripped hospital bed, Starsky waited anxiously for his partner to arrive. Fidgeting with a loosely held bottle of pills, he impatiently hopped off the bed to once again pace around the room. Several rounds later, he sat down and began juggling the medicine again.

Two days had passed since his lunch with his friends in the small private room, and he was really beginning to feel like a captive. His fever was gone and his lungs were clear; the only evidence left of his illness was a slight cough when he breathed too deeply. It was bad enough that he'd been forced to remain in bed, but for the last two days of his recovery (and he was very recovered in his opinion), he hadn't been allowed to leave his room without an escort. He tried once or twice, maybe even three times, to sneak out alone, but the same nurse (the one with the hair on her chin) seemed to have radar and caught him each time. _Damn, doesn't she ever sleep_? He thought. He stood again, but only to move to the far side of the bed. There he sat, chin in hand, staring out the filmy window into the gloom of another overcast day.

Twenty minutes passed before Hutch paraded into the room pulling Starsky from his brooding thoughts.

"What took ya so long?" He knew he was whining, but he'd been waiting for at least…he studied his watch… it was only five minutes later than Hutch said he'd be.

Expecting a negative reaction from his cohort, Starsky was pleasantly surprised when Hutch tossed a heavy paper bag into his lap. He looked up expectantly.

"Everyone at work heard you were coming home today, so they took up a collection. Open it." A smile warmed Hutch's smooth face.

Eagerly Starsky unrolled the paper bag and looked in, his eyes growing bright. "Oh, man, Hutch. This is the best…I mean…wow."

Hutch laughed heartily as Starsky dug into the bag of Halloween candy, pulling out his favorite tiny chocolate bar and consuming it. Starsky looked up guiltily. "You want some?"

"No thanks, buddy. They're all yours."

With a shrug of his shoulders, Starsky dug more candy out of the bag and consumed it with relish.

"Are you already trying to make my star patient sick, detective?"

Both young men looked at the door. "Hey, doc, the guys from our precinct sent me a going home present. Want some?"

Dr. Ness looked delighted with the offer as she took the bag from Starsky. "I thought you would never ask." She investigated the various candies while she spoke. "Now, listen, Dave. I don't want to see you in here again for a very long time. So that means you need to take all of your medicine, and get plenty of rest. Understood?"

Blushing at the motherly treatment, Starsky mumbled a polite, "Yes, ma'am," and stared at his folded hands.

"Good. Now, take care, _both_ of you." And, deftly turning, she left the room.

"Hey, wait!" Starsky hoped off the bed in indignation and stalked toward the door. "She took my candy, Hutch. She…she…that… _woman_ took my candy." Starsky was angrily flailing his arms in emphasis.

Hutch calmly put his arm around his partner's shoulders. "Let it go, Starsk."

"But, she…"

"Starsky…"

"But…"

Hutch directed his index finger at Starsky, silencing the man mid-thought. "Halloween is in two days; just eat the candy you buy for the kids."

Starsky began to argue the point, but gave in with a smile when Hutch winked and pulled a Payday from his jacket pocket. Grabbing the bar, Starsky blissfully stepped out the door.

Hutch grabbed the forgotten pills from the bed and followed. "Don't worry, partner. I'll buy you lunch at Huggy's."

"You're buying? Voluntarily? No way would I miss that." Starsky grinned as the elevator doors closed.

O0O

Hutch pulled the battered Ford out of the hospital parking garage and headed south toward The Pits. Normally, he wouldn't offer to feed his partner the heart clogging fare served in that establishment, but, to Hutch, Starsky looked undernourished and unusually thin. Too thin, in fact, he thought. Here was Starsky, healthy and grinning, riding in his car, and if keeping him healthy and happy meant feeding him that junk, so be it. He would even buy.

The wipers squealed as they ran across the windshield, smearing the light misting of rain. "Looks like another wet day," he remarked, taking in the darkened sky.

The LTD pulled up to a red light as the rain began to fall in hard droplets.

Starsky leaned forward to hit the defrost button. "Man, you need new wipers. Look at those streaks."

"I just got…"

"Hey!" Starsky interrupted, throwing open the car door. "Did you see that? Hey! Police, drop that purse, turkey!"

Before Hutch even had a chance to react, Starsky darted from the car.

"Starsky! Damnit." Hutch threw the beater into park and stepped out, silently cursing his impulsive partner. A crowd was gathered around a fragile looking older woman, who sat on the curb cradling her arm and crying.

Hutch knelt next to her, feeling the rain seep through the knees of his jeans. "Ma'am, I'm a police officer," he spoke gently. "I'm going to call an ambulance for you."

"He took my purse. That man took my purse."

"Yes, ma'am, I know. We'll get it back for you. I promise." Hutch looked down the street toward the fleeing men and then at his car, the separation from his partner causing him anxiety. On their way back to the woman, his eyes paused again on his shrinking colleague; if he left right now, he may be able to cover Starsky.

As if reading his mind, a young feminine voice spoke, "I'll stay with her, officer."

Hutch nodded his thanks without seeing and dashed back to his car, slapping the mars light on the rusted roof. Then, gunning the heap, he grabbed the mic to request an ambulance.

Hutch cruised slowly through the retail laden neighborhood bordering La Cienega, scanning the alleys on both sides of the slick road. "Where the hell are you, partner?" he voiced aloud.

Although it was early afternoon, the sky began to grow ominously dark, blocking the few rays of sun still struggling to break through the dark cover. As the wind began to pick up, autumn leaves fell into piles on the wet pavement. Hutch could smell the ozone that promised a huge storm, and the hairs on his arms began to prickle.

Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a dark figure face down on the asphalt in a dingy alley. Heart pounding, he twisted the wheel and pulled into the back street, blocking the exit. Sprinting from his vehicle, Hutch glanced at the overflowing dumpsters trying to spot his foolhardy partner. Approaching the prone form, he let out a small release of air. It was a kid laying face down on the grungy alley floor, hands cuffed behind him.

Hutch glanced up at the loud racket echoing from a dumpster spilling over with rotting, fetid garbage. A brown head covered in wilted lettuce popped up and just as quickly disappeared. Hutch stood silent for several moments, letting relief wash over him before letting anger take over his senses.

"Starsky!" he yelled. "What the hell do you think you're doing? You scared the crap outa me back there. You just got out of the fucking hospital, and here you are chasing some juvenile delinquent and crawling around in dumpsters…without back up! What the _hell_ are you trying to prove?" Hutch threw his arms up in exasperation.

Starsky glared at Hutch without saying a word, then dove back into the foul clutter.

"Starsky…!"

"You taking shouting lessons from Dobey?" Starsky's hand came up clutching an off white bag.

"I'm serious, Starsk; we need to talk about this," Hutch said reaching into the trash receptacle. Moments later, Starsky was out of the garbage and stuffing the teen into the car. It felt good to see his partner back in action, but at what cost? Starsky seemed intent on ignoring any sound medical advice and driving himself into a relapse. Hutch was pretty sure he could hear Starsky's ragged breathing as he fought to hold back a cough. "Starsky, I…"

"Look, can we discuss this later?" Starsky's face was a sad mix of agitation and dejection, as Hutch climbed in. "I want to give the lady back her purse, get the kid booked, and shower. Then I want to eat."

"Sure, Starsk, whatever." Starsky fixed his eyes on something out the side window, and Hutch wondered where he'd gone wrong in voicing his concerns. One thing he knew for sure, though…his partner was stubborn.

The horrid memory of finding Starsky collapsed on the bathroom floor, burning with fever and hallucinating, caused Hutch to shiver. He leaned over to flip on the heater, and caught Starsky inspecting him.

Hutch turned his eyes back to the road, but continued to feel his friend's gaze.

"You okay?" Starsky finally asked, a hang dog expression taking over his face.

Hutch glanced at him, frustration welling up. "No, I'm not okay. I just spent several days watching you in the hospital, hooked up to all sorts of monitors and God knows what else, wondering if you were going to make it. Wondering if…if only I'd said something…_done_ something…earlier, if maybe, just maybe you wouldn't be there, half dead. And, now that I have you back, you take off on me chasing some knob down side streets. You could have been killed and there would have been nothing I could have done about it."

"Are you done?"

"No. I'm NOT done. What makes you think you can break procedure and run off without back up, huh? Where do you get off doing that?" Hutch felt the tension slowly easing back as his anger dissipated.

"Anything else?" Starsky calmly inquired.

"Yeah. You stink." They were both smiling now.

"You always were one for telling the whole truth… Hey, Hutch?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for…well…thanks." Starsky placed a strong hand on Hutch's shoulder and squeezed.

Most people didn't see Detective Sergeant David Michael Starsky as being a diplomat, but Hutch had seen his diplomacy in action on many occasions, usually during hostage situations or tense showdowns. He also had personal experience with the man when his skill as a mediator was put to the test…Gillian came painfully to mind. Starsky was an expert on knowing when to talk and when to just listen, and right now was one of those times. Hutch suspected his friend knew he needed to blow off some steam, and Hutch was grateful for that.

The remainder of the ride was made in thoughtful silence.

O0O

The halls of Parker Center were bustling with the usual afternoon rush. People milled about the front desk waiting for papers to be signed, or loved ones to be released, while uniformed officers moved suspects from one holding area to another and detectives stood in groups chatting about their latest busts.

Smelling strongly of Irish Spring soap and wearing a pair of sweats, Starsky made his way down the crowded hall in search of his partner. Right now, all he could _really_ concentrate on was getting some food, and Huggy's down home cooking was his top priority. He was slowed down, though, by greetings and hearty back slaps from fellow officers. Still, he smiled his cheshire grin and visited briefly with various friends on his way to hunt down Hutch, pleased that he was actually missed.

"David." Starsky immediately turned toward the familiar voice. Gail was standing in the doorway of the homicide unit dressed in a white lab coat. The coat was hanging open and Starsky could see the subtle outline of her full breasts through the tight green sweater she wore underneath.

"Hey, beautiful." Starsky put on his most brilliant smile and was silently grateful that he'd had a chance to shower. Taking her hand, he pressed it lightly with his lips, causing a blush to form on her high cheeks. He'd always been attracted to Gail and even dated her a few times, although the most they'd ever shared was some heavy petting after a long night of drinking. It just never seemed to be the right time to begin a relationship; he was always busy with a case or preparing for a stakeout. And, although her job had more stable hours, on occasion she did get called away to perform an autopsy or visit a crime scene. Seemed fate always had another idea for them.

"When you get a chance, I'd like to go over the evidence from the last crime scene with you and Hutch."

"Have you eaten?"

"No, why?" She cocked her head to the side in a way that Starsky found alluring.

"How 'bout you join Hutch and me at Huggy's. He's buying, and we can talk about the case on full stomachs." Starsky smiled inwardly, imagining what his partner would say when he found out he'd been volunteered to buy.

"Sounds good. I can be there in half an hour."

"Alright, I'll see you there."

Starsky gave her a quick wink while he sauntered through the office almost plowing into Hutch.

"Hey, watch it, buddy." Hutch quickly jumped out of the way.

"Sorry, I was…uh…distracted."

Hutch looked toward the closing glass door and spotted what had his partner so absorbed. When Hutch looked back at him, Starsky just shrugged his shoulders and gave his most charming smile.

Hutch chuckled briefly before returning to business. "I just got done talking to the captain."

Starsky hoped from his expression that the news was good. "Well, don't hold out on me."

Hutch held up a piece of paper with what looked like an address printed on the front. "The captain did some digging and found an address in Hillside for the Grippo residence. The house is still in their name, so Dobey wants us check it out first thing in the morning. Maybe, if Billy's parents are still alive, they can give us the information we need to find his sister."

"What kind of family could create a monster like her, Hutch?"

"I don't know, buddy, but we may find out tomorrow."

"Not sure I want to." Starsky swallowed against the churning in his stomach.

"Let's get you something to eat, then we can _both_ get some rest tonight."

Starsky grinned lopsidedly. "Oh, about Huggy's…Gail's coming with us."

"Oh, yeah? Is it a date?"

"We're just friends."

"That's not what I've heard."

"Oh, and what have you heard?"

"She likes you."

"She does not _like_ me. We're friends." Starsky rolled his eyes at Hutch's teasing, but he had to admit, he'd missed it.

O0O

The rest of the late afternoon through dinner was much of the same teasing and banter the young detectives were known for, and Gail seemed to enjoy being the focus of the play on occasion. But, finally, when the plates were removed and they each had a chilled mug of beer before them, talk turned to the morose.

"I did a more thorough examination of the hair strand I found, but not much was there." Gail pulled a folder from her briefcase, setting it on the table. She then put the case back on the bar floor.

Putting his drink down, Hutch asked, "But you _did_ find something?"

Both detectives were gazing intently into the fawn colored eyes as she continued to relate the new information.

"Yes, I did. But I don't understand it."

"Gail, why don't you tell us, and maybe we can figure it out together." Starsky took her hand and rubbed his finger lightly over her knuckles.

"Okay." She pulled her hand away to open the folder and withdrew a photo. From what Starsky could tell, it was a dark hair with a large hoop on the end, surrounded by several specks that clung to it like lint. "This is the hair removed from the scene. As you can see, it's human hair. Now, on the end of it here," she pointed to the bulb, "it has been tied in a knot. The small particles you can see lining the hair are a combination of cotton and nylon. So…any thoughts?"

Both men stared at each other before silently admitting defeat.

"What else did you find?" Hutch inquired.

Gail took a sip of her amber brew then pulled out another photo. Starsky took a deep breath before studying the picture, and was more than relieved to see that all it showed was Anna's neck. Unlike Hutch, he hadn't been at the crime scene, and wasn't sure if he could handle seeing any more than he was being shown now.

"Obviously from the ligature marks around her neck, she was strangled to death. From the fibers left behind, it appears the killer used a nylon rope."

Starsky asked for clarification. "The same type of nylon you found on the hair?"

"No. I thought it would be a match, but when I examined them both under the scope, they were different. The nylon used to strangle the victim was made up of black fibers. The fiber on the hair is light brown."

"So, our killer is a woman who wears black nylons, has dark brown hair, and wears fake nails. Now, all we need to do is find her."

"Wish it were that easy, partner." Hutch finished off the last of his drink and stood. "Well, maybe we'll get an idea of where to start looking after we visit the family home tomorrow. In the mean time, I need to get some sleep. You need a ride home, Starsk?" he asked, handing her the pictures.

"Actually, I was going to ask David to ride with me." She smiled shyly at both men. "You live on the way to my house, so it really would make more sense for me to take you."

"Can't argue with that logic." Starsky felt himself growing warm at the thought of being alone with Gail, and hoped it wasn't too obvious.

Hutch raised a teasing eyebrow. "Just make sure you're ready when I pick you up in the morning, Gordo."

"Yeah, yeah…get outa here, would ya already." Starsky ignored the bait, and instead, took Gail by the arm and out to her car. "Night, Hutch."

The moon was beginning to glitter through the thinning clouds as the LTD pulled away on its short drive home, and Starsky felt relaxed for the first time in, well, a long time.

O0O

The streets were still slick with water as it continued its predestined trip down the gutter and out to sea. The flood angrily left the street with a loud whooshing babble down the concrete tube and the air was plump with the effusion of eucalyptus and oleander, only adding to the excitement Starsky felt at holding a sensual woman in his arms.

"Sorry bout the mess, I haven't been here in a while," he whispered as he lightly nibbled on her earlobe. Gail snaked her arm around his strong neck and pulled him closer until he could feel her hot breath against his lips. He pressed his mouth to hers, softly, deeply.

"I could get used to this," she sighed, and his skin tickled with the feel of her breath brushing warm against his face. She laced her fingers into his hair and pulled his head down to deepen the kisses which were soft and warm, but hardening as their passion grew.

Starsky felt her tongue slide smoothly against his teeth. His thighs trembled with anticipation as his groin filled with a growing warmth, his entire body aching to fill her. He shifted a muscular arm down her back and pulled her to him as he moved toward the bedroom.

He knelt over her on the bed as he lifted off her sweater and tossed it into the corner. Caressing her neck with his silky mouth, Starsky reached a firm hand under the lacy fabric of her bra, cupping a breast, stroking the tip with his thumb. It began to harden as he swallowed her moan in a deep kiss and she arched against him in pleasure. His tongue trailed down to her full breasts as his nipped and licked, her moans becoming louder. The anticipation of tasting her was almost too much as he placed kisses along the curve of her ribs.

Billie Holliday was singing a silvery melody somewhere in the background, her tones sorrowful and forlorn, the song of a lost love never forgotten. Starsky had heard the music before, could almost repeat the words, but why he didn't know. He opened his eyes to the alluring pale body on the bed underneath him, sinuous and seductive, stiffening his groin to the point that he let out a quivering breath. She ran her red lacquered fingernails over his back and he shivered with excitement. He climbed up to kiss her rich, full, rosy mouth again before removing her black dress along with what remained of his clothes.

He nuzzled his way down her velvety body until she gasped as his tongue slid over her core, then purred as it moved faster, teasing her with rapid, easy strokes. A moan erupted from her as he slid one, then two fingers, inside her warmth. Starsky sped up the caresses of his tongue and hand as she began to reach her peak and climaxed with a shiver and cry of pleasure.

"I want you inside of me," she hummed, still shuddering.

He moved up her body until he could see her wide, blue eyes, and then pushed inside of her, relishing the heat that sheltered him. He began to slowly move in and out of her, drowning her gasps with his kisses. She wrapped her legs tightly around his back, arching herself upwards, willing him to go deeper. His hardness began to swell inside of her as she gripped his body tighter. He growled in anticipation with each thrust. The sensation was too much to bear and she came again, her body rhythmically rippling in contractions around him. He gripped her back with one arm, braced with the other and pounded into her, roaring with his own climax, burying himself as deeply as he could into her body. "Oh, God, Lizzie," he panted.

The music suddenly died and the tantalizing body next to him vanished, filling his mind with confusion. Looking over to the dark, tear filled eyes of Gail, self-loathing filled his soul.

To Be Continued


	15. Chapter 16

Chapter 15

Starsky woke covered in perspiration and breathing as if he'd just run a marathon. It was still dark in his room, so he glanced at his clock radio and watched the numbers flip to 6 a.m. Must be raining again, he thought with a sigh. A voice startled him out of his addled mental state.

"Are you alright, David?"

Blinking to clear his eyes, Starsky saw that Gail was lying next to him, buried in blankets. "Uh…did I…last night…did I say…"

Gail rolled next to her lover and ran her hand over his tan muscular chest. "Did you what?"

"Nothing… I guess I'm just a little groggy." She seemed oblivious to his mistaken name calling the night before, and he began to wonder if it was just another of his vivid dreams. Another _very_ vivid dream. He shivered at the memory of the intense sex, and felt himself becoming aroused.

"Are you too groggy for this...?" She grasped his firm erection with a tight but gentle hold and began sliding her warm hand up and down his thick shaft. Starsky ran his fingers into her long, chestnut hair and pulled her into him for a hard, deep kiss. She felt so good, so right as he moaned into her mouth. Gail had an easy rhythm going and within moments he found release, throwing his head back into the pillow with a loud cry of pleasure.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" He spoke softly to her as the waves of pleasure slowly faded.

"You're not too bad either, officer," Gail said with a coquettish smile.

Starsky turned on his side and hit the alarm button before it could go off, then growled at the thought of getting out of the warm bed. A dirty thought struck him at that moment and he waggled his brows. "Hutch'll be here in an hour. Does that give us enough time to shower?"

"Us?"

"You wouldn't want to deprive me of soaping up that luscious body, would you?"

Gail giggled, hopping from beneath the covers in order to race David to the bathroom.

O0O

Hutch arrived right on time and the two overworked detectives set out to visit the Grippo residence. Starsky wrapped himself in his leather jacket and leaned tiredly against the car door.

"Long night?" Hutch could see that his partner was beat, but he also looked more relaxed than he'd seen him in a long time.

The brunette sighed deeply and a smile lit his face. "Gail stayed the night."

"You know, buddy, the two of you really look good together."

"Yeah? She feels right. Know what I mean?" Hutch knew the question was rhetorical, so he didn't answer. "But somethin really…_weird…_ happened last night."

Hutch's stomach clenched as he unconsciously gripped the wheel with worry. "Weird, how?"

"It's kinda embarrassing."

"Did you have trouble getting…?" Hutch looked at Starsky with a raised eyebrow.

Red began to appear on the usually laid back man's cheeks. "Jeeze, Hutch, it's nothing like _that_. It's…well, it's…"

"Spit it out, Starsky."

"Fine. While I was having sex with Gail, I …saw Elizabeth."

Hutch quickly stole a glance in his partner's direction. "You mean she was in your bedroom?"

"She was in my bedroom, in my bed, having sex with me."

"She was **_what_**?" Hutch recovered from his initial shock before delving more deeply. "And?"

Starsky sheepishly scratched his head and looked abashed. "It was the best sex I think I've ever had, Hutch. But I don't know if it was a dream or real or who I made love to!"

Hutch immediately felt great sympathy for his friend, only Starsky could find this kind of trouble. "Did Gail say anything?"

"No. And when I tried to ask her about it, she looked at me like I was nuts."

"I'm sorry to tell you this, but, you are nuts, buddy."

"Seriously, Hutch." Starsky had the look of a man about to get his last meal. "What's wrong with me? Why would I dream, if that's what it was, about sex with a woman who's been dead thirty years? Isn't that… like… necrophilia or something?"

Sometimes Hutch wished he'd paid more attention to his college Psychology classes, but when it came to Starsky and his mental health, he tried his hardest to put him at ease. "She wasn't real, so, no, it wasn't necrophilia. But, anyway, buddy, you've been under a lot of stress lately and you're tired. Under those circumstances, anyone would have weird dreams." He squeezed his partner's shoulder. "I think the dream you had was a very natural way to release the stress you're under. You just happened to dream about Elizabeth because she was a beautiful woman whom we spent last night talking about. It's that simple. You could have just as easily dreamt about Jaclyn Smith."

"Yeah? It just seemed so…real. I guess it kinda freaked me out a bit." Starsky paused for a brief moment. "But, man, the sex was good."

Hutch smiled at the huge grin on his friend's face. "I'll have to take your word on that."

O0O

The Gothic revival loomed ominously in front of the investigators, as they stood gawking at its enormity. At one time, long ago, it must have been a jewel to the small seaside town in which it stood. But, now, it was faded and old. A decaying wooden fence leaned awkwardly over the tall grass, shavings of white paint still visible on the spoiling timber. A hinged wooden gate no longer protected the path to the house, but, instead, hung on with its last grasp to a purpose it no longer served.

"Uh, doesn't look like anyone's home." Starsky observed while hopping over the falling gate.

Hutch walked back to his car, popped open his trunk and grabbed two flashlights. "Dobey said this was the last known address of the Grippo's." He caught up to his partner and put an arm on his shoulder, causing Starsky to stop. "Looks abandoned. Still wanna go in?"

"What, and give up a Halloween visit to a haunted house? Are you kidding?" the young brunette joked, but inside his stomach fluttered.

"Okay, then. Lead the way."

"As you weesh." Starsky used his most atrocious French accent and bowed mockingly with a sweep of his arm. He took the lead and began climbing the front steps overgrown with ball tall grass, mindful of the rotting wood. Hutch warily followed, grateful when they reached the door.

Starsky was stunned by the size and ornateness of the egress. To his eyes, it looked as if tiny fairies had been carved into the dark wood and were dancing around anxiously waiting to greet visitors.

"That's some door, huh, Starsk?"

"No kidding. Don't suppose it's unlocked, do you?" he asked, turning the knob. With just the tiny amount of pressure he placed on the salt fatigued iron, it broke off in his hand, leaving the house free to enter.

Hutch raised both eyebrows in surprise. "Well, that was easy. After you."

Starsky only hesitated a moment before stepping over the threshold into the residence, and was promptly over taken by a sickening odor. Covering his nose with his sleeve, he asked, "What the hell is that?" Though, he really didn't need to ask, he'd experienced that smell many times in his career. It was the smell of decay; an abhorrent perfume of putridness that came from rotting plant or animal matter. Starsky prayed it wasn't the later.

"We may have found more than we expected here," Hutch said, his eyes watering.

Both men moved further into the entryway in search of a light. Hutch fumbled in the dimness until he felt the switch plate, only to find what he expected in the first place; there was no electricity to power the house.

"Might as well split up. Why don't you take the upstairs? I'll look around down here. Yell, if you find something." Hutch nodded and switched on his personal light as he traveled carefully up the elaborate mahogany staircase, leaving Starsky alone to explore the lower floor.

Following the beam of his MagLight, Starsky stepped into a room with tall shelves on each wall, lined with books. The dim light shining through the windows cast a glow on the oriental rugs lining the floor, and little tiny specks of dust floated in the air as he walked. The walls were a rich burgundy color and, on them, hung expensive looking landscapes, and six silver framed pictures lined the fireplace mantel next to where he stood.

The first large photo, spotted and faded with age, showed several family members dressed in Victorian garb, looking very stoic, and not at all interested in what was taking place. After studying it briefly, he moved on to the next photo, seeing two very young children sitting side by side with matching lollipops. They looked identical with their brown hair and matching tiny suits. Picking it up, Starsky smiled when he realized it was an Easter picture. Moving his eyes to yet another photo, he saw the same boy, a few years older, standing next to a little girl. The boy looked proud of the bicycle he was posing next to, but the girl with long dark locks looked troubled as she clung to her doll. That must be Billy's sister, Starsky thought. The other pictures were more of the same, some with harsh looking parents, and some without. Starsky removed the picture of the parents with the boy and girl, placing it in his jacket pocket.

Beyond the library was the dining room with its grandiose table and an ornamented crystal chandelier that swayed to an invisible breeze, prickling the hair on Starsky's neck.

Moving back into the entryway, Starsky decided to explore the room to his right. Pushing open the door, he discovered the kitchen. The foul aroma was stronger in here as he moved toward the ice box. Taking a short step over to the ancient appliance, his foot squished against something soft causing him to swing his flashlight down toward the floor. Starsky almost retched when he realized he was standing on an expired cat's tail. Swallowing down the sour taste in his throat, he moved back to better view the source of the stench, while attempting to hold down his morning coffee. All that was left of the cat was bones covered in mangy fur and some sort of pustulant liquid that was pouring from its open, slack mouth. Maggots writhed around the open chest cavity and poured out the ears onto the floor, causing Starsky to work even harder at keeping his food down. Adjusting his light, Starsky spied a spilled box of rat poison leaving him to ponder the creature's last meal.

"What'd ya find?"

Starsky dropped his light as he jumped around, ready to fight. "Jesus H. Christ, Hutch. You trying ta give me a heart attack?" He grasp his heart in an over exaggerated manner and took several deep breaths to calm his nerves.

Hutch retrieved the Mag and handed it back to his jumpy partner. "Nothing upstairs but bedrooms. The beds are all still made but, from the collection of dust and cob webs, I don't think they've been slept in for quite some time. The twins each had their own room, though."

"Yeah?"

"There are 5 bedrooms altogether, two decorated for kids. It's a creepy mix of old sports paraphernalia and dolls. There aren't any clothes in the children's closets, but all the toys are still there. But, the master bedroom still has a full wardrobe. I'm guessing that the parents are dead or were moved into a nursing home and no one has bothered to remove their belongings."

Starsky looked around the stocked kitchen with his beam. "Nothing has been removed. It's like time stopped here when…huh, look at that."

"It's the cellar door, Starsk."

Starsky knew Hutch couldn't see his features, but rolled his eyes anyway. "I _know_ what it is. I was merely pointing it out, smartass." He clapped a hand on the blond's back and nudged him toward the slightly ajar door.

Hutch pulled it open all the way and shone his light down into the darkness. The stairs were steep and twisting, and a thick musty smell wafted up on the damp air. "Once more into the breach," he said as he took the first creaking step down.

Starsky followed closely on his tail as they descended step by step into the black pit.

Once they reached bottom, Starsky realized it was filled with an odd cacophony of junk. And doors…lots of doors.

"It's a maze down here. What do you suppose all this was for?"

"Beats me, Starsk. But I'm sure gonna find out." Hutch moved to the nearest door and stepped through. "Huh, this looks like a Taphonomy room."

"Tough, what?" Starsky asked as he stared wide eyed at a room full of dried animal corpses in various stages of dissection.

"Taphonomy. It's the study of the various overlapping, consecutive processes which can affect organic remains prior to burial." He felt Starsky's glare. "My friend's dad was a mortician and into that kinda stuff. We got to assist on occasion."

"Sounds fun, in a kinky kinda way." Starsky teased, then added, with a shiver, "I feel like they're watching me."

"They're dead, Starsk."

"Don't mean their spirits aren't here watching us, waiting for a chance to get revenge against the bipedal monsters that did this to 'em. My Uncle Herb was a hunter, and one winter…" Starsky turned to face Hutch but he was gone. Quickly vacating the room, Starsky caught up with his partner in the next chamber.

"It's a bedroom. I wonder who lived down here?" Hutch wondered aloud, exploring the bare chamber. All that was in the small, windowless room was a single bed and nightstand, a small vanity and a brush and mirror. No lamp or other light source was visible.

Starsky broke off and continued on to the next room. "There's a lotta rooms down here. It'll take forever if we stay together."

"Yeah, okay," Hutch agreed. "I'll meet you back at the stairs when you're done."

Starsky hated being in dark closed-in places, they made him feel vulnerable and on edge. And, honestly, this place was damn creepy. He couldn't get over the feeling he'd gotten when they first entered the house, the feeling that they were being watched. He stopped to listen, but heard no noises other than his partner's footsteps shuffling on the dirt floor. He scanned the walls around him, but saw nothing to warrant the twitchy feeling he had in his gut. But he couldn't deny it, he felt…repelled.

Having looked through several rooms without much luck, Starsky headed toward the last one on his list. With a glance, he saw it was just a bathroom and turned to go, until the light from his Mag caught something white, piquing his curiosity.

"You almost done?" he heard Hutch say somewhere behind the noise of his thudding heart.

At first he hesitated to go all the way into the room. Part of it was the smell…like rotten fruit, only worse. Most of it was knowing that whatever had reflected the light was not going to be pleasant. Starsky stepped out into the open basement and snatched a lungful of slightly less pungent air, then entered the bathroom once more.

His light traveled slowly to the point where it had first captured the reflection, until it stopped to focus on the claw foot tub. Adjusting the beam a little higher, Starsky slapped his hand over his mouth to keep from retching. He closed his eyes against the buzzing he felt in his head and tried to calm his heart. Steadying himself against his shaking legs, he moved closer to the tub, feeling equally horrified and fascinated.

"Get in here, Hutch!" He wasn't sure he made more than a squeak, but his partner was instantly at his side. "I think we found who was living down here."

Starsky held his light over the mummified corpse in the bath, its hooked fingers still gripping the edge of the tub. The water had long ago evaporated, leaving yellowing skin covered in a shiny adipose coating. Long grey hairs circled the drain in a serpentine pattern, but small clumps still hung tenaciously onto the scalp, giving it the look of an ill treated doll. The eyes were jet black, vacuous holes and the nose had been nibbled away to the point that Starsky could see inside the facial structure.

Hutch's reaction wasn't unexpected, or unwarranted, as he panted and gagged, turning to the toilet. But, then he pulled back with a disgusted cry; a dry, black crust covered the seat and bowl and most of the floor around it, as if blood had exploded from within. The water inside was dense and foul smelling with a dead, bloated rat floating belly up, oblivious to its situation. Starsky heard Hutch swallow and take a shaky breath. "What the hell happened here?"

"I think we found Mrs. Grippo." Starsky was holding the picture he'd removed from its frame and was looking back and forth between the body and the photo. "She's wearing the same charm bracelet that's in this picture."

"We need to call this in."

Starsky looked back at the woman in the tub. "I think this is where it all started. I think Mrs. Grippo was the first human victim, Hutch. I think this psycho practiced on all those animals back in that room and then moved on to her. That fucker practiced, Hutch… _practiced_."

Starsky felt his friend lead him from the basement, out into the hall, and finally into the fall breeze before being taken to the car. Just as he rounded to his side of the vehicle, though, he doubled over and painfully retched into the gravel.

To Be Continued


	16. Chapter 17

Broken Doll-Chapter 16

Chapter 17

The attic was filled by the scent of old musty books and mildewed boxes, while dust floated gracefully through the shafts of light streaming from the dormer window. Starsky sneezed several times and cleared his throat of the very familiar tickle, wishing he'd accepted the hot coffee Hutch had brought up an hour ago. He was glad to be up here, though, away from all the noise and bustle that comes with the investigation of an unusual death, away from the body, away from the nasty smells. Deep in his mind, where it was more of a feeling than a thought, he wished Hutch was up here with him, rather than in the basement supervising the corpse removal. Next time, he would suggest they draw straws. But, maybe it was a good thing he was up here; his head was aching in a dull, throbbing sort of way, and all the activity on the floors below hadn't help.

Reaching for another document filled box, Starsky felt a layer of cold air surround him, bringing on a shiver. He opened the crumbling carton, spreading heavy dust and thick cobwebs onto his clothing, and pulled out more of the mildewed papers. So far, skimming through all the old documents, he'd learned that the house had been built in 1918 by Anthony Grippo for his wife Belinda. Anthony worked as a mortician and, for a time, the family basement was used to prepare bodies. In 1920, the family took over the local mortician's business and moved their own business into it. Although the family business explained all the mummified animals down in the basement, it provided nothing that would account for the slaughter of several women.

Starsky quickly looked through the stack of papers in his hand, noting it was more dry reading; documentation of burial plots, births, deaths, payments, debts, and taxes. _Nothing is certain in life but death and taxes_, he thought morosely. Frustrated and running on empty, he tossed the pile back into the box with a sigh. But as he leaned forward to retrieve more papers, he spotted a hardbound book covered with drawings of flowers. Curious, he picked the book up and ran his hand over the cover. No title was on the front or spine, but inside, very lightly written in a delicate print, were the words: Belinda Pasticcio, July 1, 1918. Starsky had found the old woman's diary. Excitedly he turned to the first page and began reading:

J_uly 1, 1918_

_Father informed me today that I would be marrying the mortician's son. He is not a handsome man, 20 years my senior, and a widower. Thank God he has no children of his own; I would hate to be forced to raise the prodigy of another woman._

_I will ask Mama if she can speak with Father._

_July 10, 1918_

_The wedding is tomorrow. Mama says this will make Father happy, so I must do my duty as a daughter and marry Mr. Grippo. I will marry the old man, but I don't have to love him._

_July 17. 1918_

_Last night was my first as a married woman. I tired to hold him off, frightened by what Mama told me I had to do now as a wife, but Mr. Grippo forced himself upon me. When he was done, I escaped to the wash room and attempted to clean off his smell. Mama didn't tell me how much the act would hurt, but I didn't cry. I didn't want to give him the satisfaction._

Starsky skipped several pages here and there, but was able to get a general feeling for whom this unhappy woman was. He felt drawn into the story and continued to read the account of Belinda giving birth to twins nine months from her wedding night. It was very obvious that the woman's hatred of her husband transferred to her children, but most notable was the fact that she never referred to them by name. The arranged marriage was miserable, and Belinda took it out on everyone around her, especially the children.

Starsky put the diary down and reached toward the box once more when he felt another cool chill settle around him. It's just a draft, he thought, observing his breath in the air. Blowing warm air into his hands, he moved again to reach into the box. He froze mid-reach when voices abruptly began whispering around him, at him, in him. Angry murmurs were shooting at him, one over another, too interwoven for the detective to understand verbatim, but the angry message was still clear; he was trespassing.

_I am not hearing this_, Starsky hoped as he covered his ears in an attempt to block the sounds. But it was too late, they were already in his head. He stumbled to a standing position, fighting the foreboding presence that seemed to be invading his mind.

"You are _not_ real," he said loudly, attempting to drown out the dark chatter.

Falling to one knee, he gasped audibly as sharp pains slashed into his head. "Ahh, son of a…" He struggled, pulling himself upright once again and, with a shaky hand, dropped the diary back into its box. The pain was almost unbearable as the voices ripped into his skull. They were growing louder, if that was possible, and the blood coursing through his veins pounded to their beat.

**Louder**.

**Louder.**

A cold sweat wet his face and neck as he grabbed his head in a tight fisted grip.

"Go to hell!" he shouted, releasing his head as he lunged for the small box of papers.

Clutching it tightly against his chest, Starsky made his way to the door. If he could just make it down the attic steps…the floor began to sway, almost tossing him to the wooden floor. He regained his precarious balance, only to struggle against a weight on his legs. It was as though he was walking through viscid tar as he strained to lift his feet and move forward. Several minutes passed before Starsky realized he had only traveled a few feet toward the door. Exhausted and breathing heavily, he was almost ready to give in…_almost_. With a loud guttural roar, Starsky lunged with the last of his strength and reached the rim of the door with the fingers of his left hand. His bicep burned and his fingers ached as he pulled with all his might toward the stairwell. Without warning, the force released its hold, and Starsky lurched into the wooden door with a thud, then stumbling back and tripping over his own feet, he fell with a loud grunt onto his backside.

"Shit."

Gripping the box tighter against his chest, he stood and pulled open the heavy ornate door, dragging his shaking legs down the first step toward freedom. The voices were no longer just whispering loudly. Instead, they were now also shouting inside his throbbing skull until he was sure his brain would explode.

Dizziness was overwhelming him and the only way to keep himself from toppling head first down the steep stairs was by leaning on the banister, so he gripped the railing with his left hand and the wall with his shoulder, moving slowly and carefully forward. As he reached the last few steps, though, he felt a burning pain spread across his back. With a violent shove that snapped his head back, he was propelled forward, missing the next step completely. The box tumbled from his arms and bounced down the last few steps in a shower of papers. Starsky felt air underneath his feet, and the sensation of falling, and mentally braced for the impact with the ground which he was positive would be painful. Instead of the expected crash of his body toppling down the stairs, though, a pair of warm arms wrapped around him from the front, halting his descent.

The noise vanished and the pressure in his mind eased as he looked into the blue gaze of his partner.

Hutch held Starsky steady while the brunet gathered his balance. "Where's the fire, Starsk?"

"Huh?"

Hutch smiled and dusted off his partner's shoulder. "You came down those steps like you'd seen a ghost. I was just wondering what the hurry was."

"No ghost." He was beginning to doubt that anything unusual had happened, and chalked it up to his over active imagination and lack of sleep. "It's just creepy up there."

Well, that wasn't a lie; it _was_ damn creepy in the attic. Besides, he was done looking through all the boxes, anyway.

Hutch seemed to accept the explanation because he didn't ask any follow up questions, much to Starsky's relief. "I was on my way up to get you. We have a problem."

Starsky knelt down and, with Hutch's help, gathered together all the papers and the diary, placing them carefully back into the container. "Yeah? Do I want to know what it is?"

"Probably not," Hutch admitted, but told him anyway. "Cathy Love is out front asking questions."

Dismayed eyes quickly darted up. "You're shitting me."

"I wish I was, buddy. But she and her whole news crew are out front and she isn't taking 'no' for an answer."

"How the hell does she always know when we're on to something? What is she, psychic?"

The blond detective snorted a laugh then made a gesture for his partner to exit the room first. "Once more into the breach..."

"Come on, Henry, we have a battle to win." Starsky took a deep breath as he stepped outside to confront the cameras.

O0O

The camera flashes were blinding as the two detectives stepped out into the night. Several news crews were now gathered at the scene, pushing against the yellow perimeter tape. Local deputies did their best to keep the media back but, nevertheless, Cathy Love pushed past the blockade and over to Starsky and Hutch. Hutch felt his stomach tighten as he took the first step into the fray.

"Detectives, what can you tell me about the body you discovered?"

"No comment," Hutch curtly replied, walking past the svelte reporter. Starsky marched next to him, trying to avoid any conversation with the news crews.

Cathy rushed after them, pushing a microphone into the blond's face. "Is this a murder investigation?"

Pushing the black microphone away, he answered Cathy once more, "No comment."

"Detective Starsky." She ran after the dark haired man as he rounded the front of his car. "Is it true you reopened the Elizabeth Short murder case? Is this a part of that investigation?"

Starsky turned toward the reporter but stopped as he caught sight of the cameraman. "Get it off me," he demanded as he pushed the lens angrily away. He then turned toward Cathy in a menacing stance Hutch knew all too well. "Who told you that?"

The redhead backed up a step, her heels sinking into the wet grass, but kept up with her interrogation. "Is it true, detective? Just answer the question."

"Fuck you, lady. I don't gotta answer shit for you." Hutch decided it was time to intervene and moved toward his partner, but not before the cameraman encountered Starsky's wrath once more. "I told you to get that thing offa me, damnit!"

The jean wearing camera operator stepped back to avoid Starsky's shove but, instead, tripped over Hutch's shoe, falling onto his backside in the now muddy lawn. Hutch didn't take the time to help the man up or apologize. He rushed over to a very angry Starsky as his partner took a threatening step toward the pushy woman. Apparently, Starsky hated reporters more than he did.

Starsky stuck a pointed finger directly in front of her nose and spoke in a soft, barely restrained voice. "What _idiot_ told you the case was reopened?"

Hutch cringed at her reply. "Thank you for confirming that the case is reopened, Dave." She smiled smugly while Hutch darted in between her and his angry partner.

"Lady, if I were you, I'd back off," Hutch said, praying one of them would come to their senses and leave before causing more trouble. From the burning glare in Starsky's eyes, Hutch didn't hold out much hope that his partner would be the one to back down.

"I didn't confirm anything, _Cathy_. And, if you report that I did, so help me I'll shove that microphone so far up your-"

"Starsky!" Hutch grabbed his partner by the arm and pulled him to the side. "Just let it drop, Starsk. She's goading you into saying something you shouldn't, and you know it. You _know_ how she works."

Hutch felt his partner's shoulders relax as Starsky nodded his acceptance of the retreat. He let go of Starsky's arm and turned back toward the passenger side of the Torino.

"I didn't know you were the type to run away from conflict, detective," was the snide retort from the reporter as she tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

Hutch stopped in his tracks just as his partner turned with a look of fury coloring his face. Dreading what was about to happen, Hutch used his long legs to cut Starsky off at the pass. "Whoa, partner. Just let it go." Standing in front of Starsky, he pressed his hands against the stiff shoulders.

"I _ain't_ gonna hurt her," Starsky said as if the idea was completely impossible. "I just wanna clear a few things up with this b…uh…lady." Starsky struggled to get past Hutch's strong block.

Hutch, too, had had enough of the reporter. No one messed with his partner if he had anything to say about it and, in this case-he had something to say. "I suggest you back away before I let my companion here go. Because, lady, you just crossed the line and my partner isn't too happy about it. In fact, I'd say he's pretty damn pissed about it. And when he's pissed, I can't be responsible for his actions." Starsky lifted his upper lip in a menacing sneer and pushed harder against the blond. "I can't hold him much longer…"

Shaken up by the threatening look on Starsky's face and the exaggeration from Hutch, Cathy backed away. But when Hutch turned toward the car behind him, a fist smashed into his face, knocking him to the ground. He immediately pinched his nose to stop the copious bleeding. "Whad the hell?" his muffled voice questioned.

That was it for Starsky. He'd been holding back because that's what Hutch wanted, but now a punch had been thrown and Hutch wasn't there to stop him. In fact, Hutch was on the damp, muddy ground trying to stop the flow of crimson on his face. Starsky was out for revenge.

"Come 'ere, you son of a bitch," Starsky spoke through clenched teeth as he stood toe to toe with the camera man.

Hutch guessed the camera guy didn't know what he'd gotten himself into. Who knew, maybe the turkey was just dumb. As much as he now craved revenge, though, he hoped the uniformed officers running in their direction could get to his partner before he gave the guy any permanent damage.

In a flash, Starsky plowed into the tall, heavy set man, sending them both toppling over into the mud. Earth and grass flew in all directions as both men rolled around the drenched ground, fists flying, until Hutch could no longer discern who was whom and which fist was what. He was pretty sure, though, that Starsky was the one on top pummeling the guy below.

Cops arrived just seconds after the fray began and attempted to pull the two combatants apart. At first it appeared there would be no surrender, but eventually the men were parted. Starsky required extra restraint, and was held with his arms behind his back while he endeavored to break free, muttering colorful curses under his breath.

"Cool down, Sergeant. It's over." The older officer waited until the struggling stopped and the body relaxed before he let go.

Starsky straightened his jacket as best he could and dropped on the ground next to Hutch with a grunt of pain.

"Dobey's gonda kill us." Hutch exaggerated while mopping up the blood that still ran in a trickle down his chin. He knew he was overstating his captain's reaction, maybe, but he'd been the brunt of Dobey's angry outbursts far too often to _not_ know the man had a temper.

"Hasn't stopped bleeding, huh?" the mud encrusted man asked, closely inspecting the swelling nose and blackening eyes.

"I thing ids broked." Hutch knew it had to be if the unstoppable flow of blood was any indication.

"Damn," Starsky swore dejectedly.

"Id's not your fault, you know." Hutch knew that his partner tended to carry around all the ills of the world on his shoulders, and it was especially bad if Hutch got hurt. Usually nothing he could say would make the guilt go away, but he knew Starsky appreciated the gesture, anyway.

Sorrowful blue eyes looked up nullifying the smile that appeared on his lips. "Ain't we a pretty sight?"

Hutch nodded, causing his eyes to involuntarily water at the ache it caused in his throbbing face.

Starsky stood rigidly and limped toward the medical examiner. "Wait here," he ordered through pain clenched teeth. Moments later when he returned, he was carrying gauze, rubbing alcohol, and white tape. Hutch swallowed deeply, trying to ignore the raw pain shooting through his face as Starsky carefully wiped the drying blood away. Suddenly, his partner's icy hand was at the back of his neck. "Hey, you okay?" he heard Starsky ask as he closed his eyes to fight off the tears of pain threatening to fall.

"Yeah," Hutch answered in a soft nasal like voice he didn't recognize as his own. He shuddered and tears fell as Starsky pushed gauze into his nostrils and then used tape to hold it in place. At that moment, he realized that his best friend, freezing and covered from head to toe in mud and in obvious discomfort, was scared, scared for him. He reached up and held Starsky's wrist before he could pull away. "I'm alright, partner, really." _It's you I need to worry about, buddy; you need a hot shower before you die of pneumonia. _And that's what Hutch planned to do; take his partner home, get him cleaned up, fed and tucked away for a long night of much needed rest. After all, he'd probably need it after Captain Dobey caught the late news….

To Be Continued


	17. Chapter 18

Chapter 17

Captain Dobey sat hunched over his desk, reading the last of the day's reports. He wasn't surprised, per se, at not finding a report from his sometimes troubling duo; he knew they had spent the whole day out at the Grippo property, and he knew Starsky was still recovering from his recent bout of pneumonia. He also knew that a certain very protective partner had most likely forced Starsky home and to bed. Therefore, one sick partner plus one worried friend equaled no daily report. The math was simple and Dobey knew better than to try and fight it.

With a spent sigh, the captain picked up the final report and began dissecting it with less enthusiasm than usual. A burst of raucous laughter from the squad room startled him out of his funk. He lifted his large frame from his chair and opened his door to the noise.

"What in the name of Hades is going on out here?" he bellowed over the loud din of his men.

A plainclothes detective stepped forward with a look of guilt. "It's…uh…the news, captain."

"And what's so funny about the news tonight, Jenkins?"

The detective nodded to a group of other officers. They stepped aside and revealed a small television on a back desk. Dobey walked closer, his growing curiosity quickly turning to anger.

…_once again, the footage we are about to replay was taken by one of K-Seven's very own camera men. In this footage you will see the unprovoked attack of Kiro News Seven's Martin Williams by an unidentified Bay City Detective…_

The footage began with Hutch pushing a black microphone away with a curt "No comment" and then cut to a fatigued-looking Starsky shouting at the camera man and shoving the lens out of his face. The next lines were edited out but it was obvious to Dobey that Starsky was, very animatedly, using inappropriate language. And then he knocked the camera man over. At the comments and soft chuckles coming from the detectives gathered around, Dobey glared, immediately silencing them.

The footage then appeared to show his hot headed detective threatening the woman reporter, and Hutch intervening. Dobey felt his face becoming warm and by the time he saw Starsky tackle the camera man, he was sweating and his neck veins were bulging.

"Don't you men have something better to do around here?"

All of the gang quickly returned to their desks leaving the angry man to himself in front of the television.

He waited to hear the rest of the report, then calmly turned off the tube and strode quietly into his office, the door slamming shut behind him. Minutes later he was holding the black Bell telephone and pacing. "Millie, get me Detective Starsky on the phone."

O0O

Starsky hurt. His toes hurt, his chest hurt, his brain hurt. Even the tiny follicles of hair on his scalp hurt as the hot shower pounded down over him washing away chunks of mud, grass and blood. He pressed his head against the stall wall and let the heated stream course down his bruised body while he closed his eyes. He'd attempted to nap at the hospital while Hutch was having his nose set, but the wailing of an infant and two small siblings running wild, constantly bumping his legs, ensured that he did not get any rest. _Damn the doctor for not letting me stay with Hutch, _he grouched

A pounding on the door brought him out of his exhausted trance. "Don't fall asleep in there, Starsk, you might drown."

Starsky snorted at his friend's humor, and turned off the water. Pushing the curtain back, he grabbed a towel. He wrapped it around his waist as he dragged his feet laboriously to the sink. His eyes felt unusually heavy and he knew sleep would come quickly tonight. Leaning against the cold porcelain he yawned and rubbed his face, cringing at the burning sensation on his bruised skin. Eyes still watering, he looked up into the fog-covered mirror only to stumble back in shock. Written in the steam covered mirror were the words:

**HELP ME**

Stunned, Starsky stood in front of the plea trying to understand its meaning. _Hutch, Hutch needs to see this_, he decided, but his legs refused to move. A cold chill began to creep up slowly encompassing his body. His flesh shivered as the words were wiped away by an invisible hand. Before he could move, a pressure pushed against his neck and wrapped around to his face, where he felt gelid fingers prying his lips apart. He tried to fight, bringing his hands up and pulling the unseen fingers away, but he was frozen, as if bound, unable to move.

Choking. He was choking as the tendrils filled his mouth, and the pungency of its flesh overwhelmed him, long and moist, almost slimy. He was gagging against the over full sensation as the suffocating strands slowly made their way down his throat. _Oh God,_ he thought, panicking. His heart began to pound furiously in his chest as his lungs filled with the probing vines. He couldn't breathe as they pushed further into him. He attempted to cough, trying to expel the foreign substance, but it was too enmeshed in his body. Was it trying to reach his soul, he wondered? The room around him grew hazy, then dark.

A fist pounded on the door. "Don't fall asleep in there, Starsk, you might drown."

His eyes snapped open, the glare of off white shower walls confirming that he was still among the living, and that he'd never left the shower stall. Starsky rubbed his eyes in an effort to wake, then stuck his head under the spray when the latter failed.

Blinking quickly to clear the water from his eyes, he turned around searching for something. What, he didn't know, but he had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't alone in the room. A chill ran down him and he realized that the water had turned cold. Shivering, he tuned off the spray and pulled back the curtains, a feeling of déjà vu skittering across his mind. Stepping from the stall, he grabbed a towel and wrapped it tightly around his waist, mindful of his sore and bruised muscles.

There was another rap on the door. "You in there, Starsk? Your soup's getting cold."

"Thanks." Starsky replied, less than enthusiastically.

He surreptitiously avoided the mirror as he retreated from the bathroom. Walking past Hutch into the bedroom, he used the towel to dry his hair.

"Jesus, Starsk. What's on your back?" Hutch followed him, stretching a concerned hand out toward his friend.

Turning circles to examine his back, Starsky finally gave in and asked, "What? What is it?" _Oh, please, don't let it be a spider. _He couldn't help the slight rise of panic in his voice.

"Calm down." Hutch snickered as he touched the reddish blue area near his friend's shoulder. "It looks like a rash, but it's in the shape of a hand print."

Grabbing a hand mirror off of the top of his dresser, Starsky held it so he could see the strange anomaly. "It's a bruise. Hardly feel it."

"That camera man got you good, buddy."

"Yeah, but not before I made him eat dirt." _Funny, I don't remember him hitting me on the back_. He stretched his fingers to touch the handprint on his upper back expecting to feel pain, but only felt the chill of his damp flesh.

Hutch pulled a dresser drawer open and threw a pair of tattered sweats to the shivering man standing before him. "Here, put these on. You're making me cold."

Starsky did as told and then flopped onto the mattress, trying to savor the feel of his soft down pillow cradling his head, but, instead, feeling all the pain and weariness of the day asserting control over his body. When he next opened his eyes, Hutch was standing over him with a glass of water in one hand and bottle of pills and a tube of liniment in his other.

"Hey, partner. Can you sit up so you can take your medicine?"

Starsky grunted a negative reply.

"Don't think I didn't hear you coughing in the shower, pal. Now take this."

A large white pill was placed in Starsky's hand. "I don't want it." He said, setting it on the night stand and closing his eyes.

"Starsky…"

Opening one eye to search out his partners face, Starsky reconsidered disobeying and sat up.

He popped the large tablet into his mouth, giving Hutch a sour look. "Wa'er?"

"Oh, yeah. Here."

The glass was handed over carefully, and Starsky took a sip. He felt the tablet slide uncomfortably down his throat. "Gah, that's awful."

Hutch took back the water, setting it on the night stand and removed the cap from the liniment. "Let's get some of this on you. Should help with the pain."

"Sounds kinky." Starsky waggled his brows but, at Hutch's warning glare, he rolled quietly onto his stomach. He had to admit, the sensation of the warming salve and the firm strokes of his partner's hands felt pretty good. The massage melted the tense muscles in his neck and back. As he began to drift, the familiar touch of his best friend's fingers filled him with a sense of safety he hadn't realize he'd been missing.

Hutch continued the massage, drawing comfort from the activity even though Starsky had fallen asleep minutes earlier. He felt the rise and fall of each slow breath and the rhythmic pulse in Starsky's neck, and wondered when the man would fracture.

Hutch knew his friend's tension was building to a breaking point, he could see it in his actions; snapping at the littlest of things, threatening reporters, hitting camera men. All of this was so far from Starsky's normal behavior that Hutch was tempted to force the issue.

Hutch patted his friend on the back in a melancholy manner and sighed. Standing up, he wandered out the bedroom door and into the living room. Pausing indecisively for a moment, he headed to the kitchen where the pan of soup sat cold and untouched on the stove.

Deciding to leave it for another time, he grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat tiredly on the couch. Too burned out to even turn on the television, he simply sat there, nursing his brew and worrying.

The phone rang. Hutch almost dropped the bottle as he jumped up from the couch in an effort to grab the phone from the desk before the shrill sound woke Starsky. He swiftly lifted the receiver, brushing it across his nose in the process. As tears of pain formed in his blackened eyes, he pulled the phone away, taking a moment to fight the burning in his face.

"Starsky? Starsky! Dammit, answer me!"

The voice was tinny and far away, yet Hutch recognized it as their captain. Tentatively, he put the phone back against his ear. "Uh, Cap, it's Hutch….oh. You saw that, huh?" Was it his imagination, or did beads of sweat just break out on his forehead? "He's asleep right now, cap. Yes sir, he did, but… well, yes, I did too, but…for crying out loud, cap, _he_ attacked Starsky…yeah…yeah, I understand, cap… but I'm not sure he will….yeah? Well, at least something good came out of this…yeah, okay, give me the address…tomorrow morning, captain…yeah, alright."

The phone on the other end disconnected loudly, but Hutch stood with it to his ear a moment longer, Dobey's booming voice still ringing in his head, '_You have to keep a tighter rein on that juvenile partner of yours, Hutchinson,'_

Hutch set the phone back in its cradle and picked up the paper. His eyes fixed tiredly on the address. Could it be, finally, they had a break in their case? Besides the chewing out by proxy, Dobey had phoned to tell them that an old friend of Elizabeth Short's had possible informationon the case. Did they want it? Hell yeah, they wanted it! Hutch was almost giddy at the thought of getting some news they could use to catch the sick bastard dissecting women.

Oh, and then there was telling Starsky about the administrative discipline Dobey had levied on him.

Hutch placed the paper back down on the table. He grabbed several Tylenol from the nearly empty bottle in the kitchen, and returned to his spot on the couch. It had been a fucking long, painful day, he thought as he closed his eyes and leaned back.

O0O

Dream or reality, Starsky couldn't tell. The images flashing through his brain were strong, almost painful. He was in the water - somewhere - not here. Hands were pushing him down until he was fighting to breathe. Through the icy water pooling over his head he could hear a shrill voice shouting.

_You are a dirty, nasty child. Just like your father, useless, weak. Always touching yourself. That's all you think about, isn't it? Sick. It's sick. What do I have to do to you to make you stop? Stop crying. No one is around to hear you. No one cares. Just me. Just mamma. _

In his own voice he heard himself begging not to be hurt, crying to be let out of the freezing water, calling out for his daddy. And then he was under again, drowning.

Now he saw the room. The room in the basement. Dead animals surrounded him, their hard cold eyes burrowing into him. There was a man, a man with a knife. He plunged the long blade into the stomach of a bloated, decaying dog, eviscerating it. Starsky felt a sharp pain in his stomach reaching up to his heart, nausea pushing its way into his throat.

_Reggie's long dead, boy. No point in crying about it now. Now come over here and help me skin it._

The yelling and shouting were everywhere; he couldn't escape it, louder and louder. Blood, there was blood. He pushed down the stairs, felt himself tumble, and then his leg broke with a sickening snap, like the sound of a brittle twig. And then something old and stale was pushed into his mouth as he gagged against it, refusing to swallow. He tried shoving the terror away, but his arms were weak. He was weak. Sick and weak. And all he could do was scream and scream and scream and scream.

"Starsky?"

Starsky felt hands on his back, the gentle touch pulling him out of the tormenting dream. He became aware of his surroundings slowly, still feeling the tug of sleep on his mind. Rolling over, he saw the anxious face of his partner looking down on him.

"You all right there?" Hutch's voice cleared away the last of the fog. Feeling a smoldering fear eating through him, Starsky sat up and turned to face his partner.

"Yeah," Starsky cleared his throat. "Just a…just a dream." He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself and breathe through the heated pain in his chest. He remembered everything: the attic, the stairs, the message on the mirror, the voices screaming. He remembered all of it, and it made him sick.

Hutch gave Starsky a cynical look. "Just a dream, huh? Is that why you were screaming? And why you're drenched in sweat?" His eyes lingered until Starsky looked away.

Starsky sighed. He knew he was horrible at keeping things hidden from the man sitting beside him, but he didn't know if he could hold himself together long enough to reveal all of the torment he had endured over the last several weeks. He felt like he was hanging on by a very thin, much frayed string. "It…God, I don't know…it was really bad."

Hutch raised his eyebrows. "Can you elaborate a little for me?"

"Look, it's nothing, really. Just a bad dream, you know, blood, water, falling down stairs. It's, uh..." Starsky shut his eyes and brought a closed fist to his mouth in an attempt to hide the emotions fighting to escape, swallowing hard to hold back the scream he felt pushing out of him.

Hutch gripped his shoulder. "Starsky?"

It must have been the concern in his soft voice mixed with the totally familiar way his name was spoken by Hutch, but Starsky felt his walls crumble. He began to shake. "I remember everything, Hutch."

O0O

Hutch sat on the bed and listened as his partner wove a story of revulsion and terror, his eyes remaining fixed on his clenched hands.

Work took its toll on the men of the BCPD, and often left them with heavy loads to carry. What they carried, though, and how they got rid of it, depended on the individual. Some officers drank. Others beat their wives or lovers. Some even took their own lives. Some, the lucky ones, had partners to help them deal. Starsky had Hutch. Together they shared the weight, and when it got too burdensome, they yelled, and shouted, and sometimes even cried. That was normal. But Starsky holding onto his weight until it pulled him into the darkness was not.

Starsky was falling apart; his Adam's apple rapidly bobbed up and down as he fought to keep his tears at bay, his fists pressed against his eyes as if to block any unwanted visions. He was jittery and on edge, the words pouring out of him in a long breathless stream. He sat with his muscular legs pulled up to his chest, a pillow tucked safely between them and his chest, his broad shoulders and powerful arms wrapping tightly around his shins. He looked fragile, and that scared Hutch. David Starsky was a strong man, but whatever was affecting his friend right now had taken a deep toll, and Hutch wasn't sure how to pay the collector.

Detail after detail of the vicious attacks poured from Starsky's memory, some Hutch knew about, others new, and every one of them chilling. All he could do was listen and be there for his partner when he was done, and that was frustrating. Hutch was a man of action, but here there was nothing he could chase down or punch out or arrest.

Wide bloodshot eyes looked up and in them Hutch saw…what was it? Guilt? Shame? Reproach? God, what was Starsky thinking?

"I don't know how to stop this, Hutch. I feel responsible for her. It's my fault. I should have protected her."

Immediately Hutch knew what had been eating at his best friend and his stomach churned. "Buddy, I thought you were over this. I thought you understood. You can't hold yourself responsible for Anna's death. Some sicko chose to take her life and you were left out of that equation. You were in the hospital, remember? We had no reason to think she was in danger."

A tear trickled down the side of Starsky's nose. He rubbed it away with the palm of his hand. "I should have known. I should have…"

"There are no should haves, Starsk. You didn't _know_ anything. Christ, _we_ didn't know anything. Still don't. Shit, maybe I should have seen it coming. I wasn't the one lying unconscious in a hospital. If you blame anyone, it should be me."

That last comment grabbed Starsky's attention and he blinked the dampness from his eyes as he looked at Hutch. "No," he whispered in a voice cracking with emotion "S'not your fault. Oh, God, Hutch. Why is this happening to me? What's wrong with me?"

"It's no one's fault but the bad guy, buddy. And I can't tell you why…or…or how, this is happening, but we'll figure it out, I swear. I swear Starsk." He now held his partner in his arms, Starsky's head buried against his chest, as tired sobs escaped. "It's not your fault. Never was. Never could be. Shh, Starsk. Shhh."

As Hutch rubbed the trembling back, he felt his throat tighten. _Better late than never, partner_, he thought.

O0O

"Rise and shine, partner."

Starsky threw his arm over his face to block the sound. How could Hutch always be so damn cheerful in the morning?

"Go 'way, 'm sleeping." He rolled onto his side, realizing too late that his ribs would protest. With a hiss he sat up and drearily opened one eye. "What time is it?"

Always the mind reader, Hutch handed a cup of juice to Starsky. "Time for you to get up. We have an interview today."

"Yeah?" His voice was rough and still slightly slurred with sleep. "With who?"

"Some woman who saw a news story last night about the case. Says she knew Elizabeth and has some information for us."

"Well then, guess I'd better get up."

Starsky climbed out of the warm bed and trudged to the sink, where he grabbed his tooth brush. He leaned forward and momentarily eyed his bruised face in the mirror.

Hutch stood at the door watching his partner. Carefully, Starsky squeezed a thin rope of Ultra Brite onto the brush and began to cleanse each tooth using a circular motion, then up and down, and finally across before moving on to the next. The blue foam dripped from his open mouth into the sink which was more than Hutch could stomach so early in the day. He looked away as he spoke. "Dobey saw the news, too."

"Doey wa?" Starsky gagged on the words and began to cough.

"Hey, you okay there, buddy?" Hutch moved into the bathroom and patted Starsky on the back until he was sure Starsky would survive.

"Yeah, yeah, get off." Starsky spat the remainder of the paste into the sink and put his toothbrush away. As he splashed cold water over his face, his thoughts returned to the previous evening. He turned to look at his partner. Man, he hated these awkward moments. The words he wanted to tell Hutch, the words that said how grateful he was that Hutch hadn't run away, seemed to escape him, so he tried the best way he knew how. "Uh, Hutch? About last night…"

Hutch was still standing in the doorway watching him. "Nothing you wouldn't have done for me buddy. Now get dressed, we have a date." The caring smile on the tall blond's face gave Starsky the hope he needed. He wasn't alone in this; he had the world's best partner to back him up.

O0O

"I don't wanna know, Hutch."

"Starsky, Dobey saw the entire thing on TV. You don't think he's going to let that go, do you? You started a fight!" Hutch held on to the armrest of the Torino as his partner took a corner at top speed.

"I didn't start it!" He whined for the umpteenth time.

"Slow it down, will ya?" Hutch dug his fingers deeper into the vinyl. "Come on, Starsk, ignoring it isn't going to make the punishment go away." Man, his partner could be stubborn.

"We're here." Starsky slammed on the brakes causing the papers on Hutch's lap to slide to the floor, which Hutch bent to retrieve. "What's her name again?"

Starsky had avoidance down to a fine art, and his tight mouth made it glaringly clear that he did not want to talk about that subject right now.

"We _are_ talking about this later, Gordo." Hutch directed his finger at his partner's chest.

"Not if I can help it." Starsky mumbled climbing out and slamming his door shut.

Hutch met Starsky's eyes over the top of the car. "What's that, Gordo?"

Starsky glowered at his amused partner then joined him at the sidewalk, a playful grin on his own face.

Hutch looked once more at the paper. "The lady's name is Georgia Smith, Starsk. Try not to scare her with that ugly mug of yours."

"Obviously you haven't looked in any mirrors of your own, Blintz." Starsky ribbed, straightening his jacket.

Mrs. Georgia Smith met them on her front porch, looking radiant for her years. She looked like a movie star to Hutch, and from the gleam in Starsky's eye, he surmised his partner was thinking the same.

The woman wore a coral colored silk shirt with a low neck, showing off a string of very expensive looking alabaster pearls. The shirt was neatly tucked into a gray tailored skirt, nicely actuating her small waist. She wore heels that were just high enough to give her the illusion of being tall, but Hutch noticed that without them she was probably no bigger than five two.

Her silver hair neatly framed her oval face in a mid-length style often worn by society women. And although Hutch wasn't one to usually notice an older woman's make up, hers was striking in the way the colors worked to open up her large jade eyes.

"Are you the detectives I was told were coming?" Hutch blushed as he realized he was staring.

"Yes, ma'am." Hutch climbed the front steps followed by his partner. "I'm Detective Sergeant Hutchinson and this is my partner Detective Sergeant Starsky. We were told you may have some information about a case we're working on."

"Please, come in gentleman." She waved her arm, beckoning them into her Craftsman home. "I saw the story on the news last night. It seems so long ago since I last thought of it, but now…" She grew quiet as she sat down, as if lost in memories.

Starsky sat on a chair near her while Hutch took his place on the couch. Pictures lined the walls of the tastefully decorated home, old photos of women in long, embellished gowns and men in custom suits. Hutch recognized one of the pictures as that of Harold Parker, an actor well known for his love scenes on and off screen.

"Those are pictures of my friends and me back when Hollywood was just starting to make a name for itself. I was young, just seventeen, when most of those were taken."

Starsky spoke first. "You were an actress?"

"Oh no, I was a dancer. But Elizabeth, she was an actress." At a look she mistook for confusion on Starsky's face, the woman continued. "Isn't that why you came here? To find out about Liz?"

"Yes, that's right, Mrs. Smith." Hutch took over the business end of the interview while Starsky continued to maintain an expression of bemusement. _What is it, Starsk,_ he silently wondered.

She reached over to the wooden coffee table and retrieved a photo album, opening it for both men to see. "She was beautiful, wasn't she? I met her just before my twenty-first birthday. I was dancing in the follies, and she was looking for work. We began talking and were friends from that moment."

Hutch knew that feeling of instant connection. He'd had it with Starsky at the academy the first day they met. He looked over to his friend to see if he was thinking the same thing, but Starsky still held the same expression, only slightly greener than before.

"I called the station and spoke with your very kind captain. He told me you two were reinvestigating the murder. I just thought that maybe, now, someone would listen to me."

"What do you mean?" Hutch leaned forward.

Folding her well-manicured hands in her lap, Georgia spoke. "Just after Liz was murdered, I contacted the detectives in charge of the investigation and told them I was her roommate. They sent an officer over to our apartment to take my statement, and that's the last I ever heard from them."

"And you think that you have information that may help us catch her killer? Pardon my asking, but why did you wait so long to come forward?"

Hutch gave his partner a disapproving look. "Starsky…"

She looked directly into Starsky's eyes. "The man I told them about had…has…very powerful connections in this city, Sergeant Starsky. I was young and scared. If the police didn't feel it was important, or were too weak to deal with it, then I guess I thought maybe it _wasn't _important."

"What did you tell 'em?"

"Everything I could. You see, Elizabeth didn't come from a very good family. The poor kid moved around a lot trying to make a living. When she moved in with me she was broke and hungry. I got her a job working as an extra on the film set and that's where she met Mr. William Grippo. She saw him as a meal ticket and he saw her as something pretty to hang on his arm. Almost every weekend Mr. Grippo had her out to his estate for one of his infamous parties. She would come home after a weekend out there and tell me stories of all the famous men and beautiful women."

"Did you ever go to one of these parties?" Hutch asked.

She cast her eyes down to the pictures as she answered. "I'm ashamed to say I did. I thought it would help my career to be around all of the movie studio executives, but they were too busy with their drugs and orgies to even notice I was there. That's all the parties really were, an excuse to sleep with all of the starlets. Liz and I managed to avoid that for the most part, and after a while I just stopped going. I begged Liz to stop going too, but she said she could take care of herself. And I believed her."

"What happened to change your mind?" Both detectives were wrapped up in the drama of her story.

"She came home one night, beaten and afraid. I asked her what happened, but she wouldn't tell me. Told me it was for my own protection. But by the look on her face, I think she saw something she wasn't supposed to."

Starsky leaned forward. "And you think Billy beat her because of it?"

Georgia shook her head. "That's what's strange. Mr. Grippo was gone that weekend. He often traveled out of town for business, so his sister, Charlene, would stay at the estate, to keep an eye on things."

Hutch looked to Starsky, who nodded. "What was Charlene like?" He questioned.

"Quiet. Shy. Not at all attractive. You see, she was a large woman, almost as tall as Mr. Grippo, but she lacked his looks and personality. Although they were twins, they weren't very close. In fact I rarely, if ever, saw the two together. And they never talked to each other in front of guests. But we could hear violent arguments between them from the upper bedrooms. She often threatened him, detectives… Elizabeth never told me what happened that weekend, but she told me to stay away from Mr. Grippo, and I did. I believe his sister is capable of tremendous violence. I also know that Mr. Grippo would do _anything_ to protect his twin."

"Thank you, Mrs. Smith. This has been a tremendous help to my partner and me." Hutch folded his papers and closed his notebook, placing them back in his jacket pocket, then nodded toward his partner

Georgia stood. "I hope it helps you find her killer, officers."

Hutch heard the creak of a door opening, and turned when a heavy breeze shot through the living room. Just as his curiosity was getting the better of him, a tall man entered from the porch carrying driving gloves and a satchel. Georgia moved to the older man and took his satchel, setting it on a buffet behind the couch. "This is my husband, Claude. Claude, these are the detectives I told you would be coming."

"Nice to meet you, gentlemen." The elderly man, obviously several years older than his wife if wrinkles and age spots were any indication, held out his hand. Hutch grabbed and released it in a friendly shake and waited for Starsky to do the same. When no recognition of the new man in the room came, he turned to look for his partner. Hutch was bewildered by what he saw.

Starsky seemed mesmerized by the table, where the breeze had turned a page in the memory book.

"That was Liz with the love of her life, Tommy Holden. He was a sergeant in the Air Corps during the war." By war, she meant, of course, World War II. Georgia Smith continued with her story, turning the page. Hutch heard a quick intake of breath from Starsky as the page fell open revealing Elizabeth in an elegant black gown standing next to a handsome man in his dress uniform.

Starsky hadn't looked particularly well at any time during the interview, but now he was the color of avocados and perspiration dotted his face.

Georgia didn't seem to notice. She continued her story. "This was taken in 1946 at the Sicily Club the last night they were together, the last time she saw him."

"What…what do you mean 'last time'?" Starsky sputtered.

"She told me that night that she and Tommy were engaged, but he had to return to Germany for a few weeks before he could be released from duty. On his flight home, the plane went down and there were no survivors. After that she fell apart and began to associate with the Grippos again."

A haunted whisper slipped from Starsky's mouth. "_Beth._"

Mrs. Smith looked up in surprise. "Yes, Beth. That's what he called her. How did you know?"

Starsky abruptly stood, as pale and green as Hutch had ever seen him. He politely excused himself and darted out the door mumbling something about checking in with dispatch.

Hutch fought the urge to chase after him. Instead, ignoring his need to check on Starsky, he wished the Smiths goodbye, telling them they'd be in touch. A few more pleasantries passed before Hutch was able to break away and join his partner at the car.

To Be Continued….


End file.
